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WILT  THOU  TORCHY 


By  SEWELL   FORD 

TORCHY 

TRYING  OUT  TORCHY 
ON  WITH  TORCHY 
TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC. 
WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

ODD   NUMBERS 
"Shorty  McCabe  " 

SHORTY  McCABE  ON 
THE  JOB 


WILT  THOU 
TOUCHY 


BY 


SEWELL  FORD 


ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  FRANK  SNAPP  AND 
ARTHUR  WILLIAM  BROWN 


NEW  YORK 
EDWARD  J.  CLODE 


COPTBISHT,  1915,  1916,  1917,  BT 

SEWELL   FORD 


COPYRIGHT,  1917,  BY 
EDWARD  J.  CLODE 


DEDICATION 

To  All  Red  Heads 

and  to  those  who,  with  me,  have  a  generic 
liking,  perhaps  something  stronger  in  speci- 
fic instances,  for  these  children  of  t7te  sun. 
The  Good  Lora  love  'em  and  keep  'em. 

S.  F. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAOS 

I.  ON  THE  WAY  WITH  CYBIL      .       .       .      >.      ..  1 

II.  TOWING  CECIL  TO  A  SMEAB     .       .      ...      ...      .  17 

III.  TOBCHY  HANDS  OUT  A  SPILL 34 

IV.  How  HAM  PASSED  THE  BUCK 51 

V.  WITH  ELMEB  LEFT  IN 70 

VI.  A  BALANCE  FOB  THE  Boss       .....  87 

VII.  TOBCHY  FOLLOWS  A  HUNCH 105 

VIII.  BBEAKING  ODD  WITH  MYBA 126 

IX.  REPOBTING  BLANK  ON  RUPEBT        ....  143 

X.  WHEN  AUNTIE  CBASHES  IN     ...      ....      .  160 

XI.  A  JOLT  FBOM  OLD  HICKOBY     .....  179 

XII.  TOBCHY  HITS  THE  HIGH  SEAS  .....  196 

XIII.  WHEN  THE  NAVY  HOBNED  IN  .       .       .       .  213 

XIV.  AUNTIE  TAKES  A  NIGHT  OFF  .       ....  233 
XV.  PASSING  THE  JOKE  BUCK                             ...  251 

XVI.  TOBCHY  TAKES  A  RUNNING  JUMP  ....  272 

XVII.  A  LITTLE  SPEED  ON  THE  HOME  STBETCH      ,:  292 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"  BUT  THE  IMPUDENCE  OF  You,  TO  Do  IT  RIGHT  HEBE  !  " 
SHE  GOES  ON.  "  No  ONE  BUT  You,  TOBCHY,  WOULD 
HAVE  THOUGHT  OF  THAT"  ....  Frontispiece 

FACING 
PAGE 

"I  REFEB,'  SAYS  CYBIL,  'TO  THE  BBOTHEBHOOD  OF  THE 
SACBED  OWLS.'  AND  ONCE  MOBE  HE  DOES  THE  EAB 
WIGWAG" 13 

"I  DON'T  THINK  I  EVEB  SAW  AUNTIE  COME  so  NEAB 
BEAMIN'  BEFOBE.  SHE  SEEMS  RIGHT  AT  HOME, 
FIELDIN'  THAT  LINE  OF  CHAT.  AND  VEE,  TOO,  Is 
MOBE  OB  LESS  UNDEB  THE  SPELL  "...  .37 

"'PABDON  ME  FOB  CHANGING  MY  MIND,'  SAYS  CLYDE, 
AS  WE  HITS  THE  SIDEWALK,  '  BUT  I  THINK  I  PBEFEB 
TO  WALK  DOWNTOWN.'  'Jusi  WHAT  I  WAS  GOIN' 
TO  SPBING  ON  You,'  SAYS  I " 41 

"FOB  A  SECOND  IT  LOOKED  LIKE  GLADYS  WAS  GOIN'  TO 
FBEEZE  WITH  HOBBOB;  BUT  SHE  JUST  GIVES  VALEN- 
TINA  THE  ONCE-OVEB  AND  INDULGES  IN  A  PANICKY 
LITTLE  GIGGLE" 81 

"  THEN  SHE  GBIPS  ME  ABOUND  THE  NECK  AND  SNUGGLES 
HEB  HEAD  DOWN  ON  MY  NECKTIE, — SAY,  THEN  I 
KNEW  "  295 


WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

CHAPTER  I 

ON  THE  WAY  WITH   CYRIL 

IT  was  a  case  of  declarin'  time  out  on  the 
house.  Uh-huh — a  whole  afternoon.  What's 
the  use  bein'  a  private  sec.  in  good  standin' 
unless  you  can  put  one  over  on  the  time-clock 
now  and  then?  Besides,  I  had  a  social  date; 
and,  now  Mr.  Robert  is  back  on  the  job  so  steady 
and  is  gettin'  so  domestic  in  his  habits,  some- 
body's got  to  represent  the  Corrugated  Trust 
at  these  function  things. 

The  event  was  the  openin'  of  the  Pill  Box; 
you  know,  one  of  these  dinky  little  theaters 
where  they  do  the  capsule  drama  at  two  dollars 
a  seat.  Not  that  I've  been  givin'  my  theatrical 
taste  the  highbrow  treatment.  I'm  still  strong 
for  the  smokeless  war  play  where  the  coised 
spy  gets  his'n  good  and  hard. 

But  I  understand  this  one-act  stuff  is  the 
thing  to  see  just  now,  and  I'd  picked  up  a  hunch 
that  Vee  and  Auntie  had  planned  to  be  in  on 
this  openin'  until  Auntie's  sciatica  developed  so 

I 


2  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

bad  that  they  had  to  call  it  off.  So  it's  me 
makin'  the  timely  play  with  a  couple  of  seats 
in  E  center  and  almost  gettin'  hugged  for  it. 
Even  Auntie  shoots  me  an  approvin'  glance  as 
she  hands  down  a  favorable  decision. 

So  we  sits  through  five  acts  of  piffle  that  was 
mostly  talky  junk  to  me.  And,  at  that,  I  wa'n't 
sufferin'  exactly;  for  when  them  actorines  got 
too  weird,  all  I  had  to  do  was  swing  a  bit  in  my 
seat  and  I  had  a  side  view  of  a  spiffy  little  white 
fur  boa,  with  a  pink  ear-tip  showin'  under  a  rip- 
ple of  corn-colored  hair,  and  a — well,  I  had 
something  worth  watchin',  that's  all. 

" Wasn't  that  last  thing  stupid?"  says  Vee. 

"Didn't  bother  me  any,"  says  I.  "Maybe 
I  wa'n't  followin'  it  real  close." 

"The  idea!"  says  she.  "Why  come  to  the 
theater,  anyway?" 

"Lean  closer  and  I'll  whisper,"  says  I. 

"Silly!"  says  she.  "Here!  Have  a  choco- 
late." ' 

"Toss,"  says  I,  openin'  my  mouth. 

Vee  snickers.  * '  Suppose  I  missed  and  hit  the 
fat  man  beyond?" 

"It's  a  sportin'  chance  he  takes,"  says  I. 
"Shoot." 

I  had  to  bump  Fatty  a  bit  makin'  the  catch; 
but  when  he  sees  what  the  game  is,  he  comes 
back  with  the  friendly  grin. 


ON  THE  WAY  WITH  CYEIL  3 

" There!"  says  Vee,  tintin'  up.  "Now  be- 
have." 

"  Sorry,"  says  I,  "but  I  had  to  field  my  posi- 
tion, didn't  I?  Once  more,  now." 

"Certainly  not,"  says  Vee.  "Besides,  there 
goes  the  curtain." 

And  if  it  hadn't  been  for  interruptions  like 
that  we  might  have  had  a  perfectly  good  time. 
We  generally  do  when  we're  let  alone.  To  sort 
of  string  the  fun  out  I  suggests  goin'  some- 
where for  tea.  And  it  was  while  we're  swap- 
pin'  josh  over  the  toasted  crumpets  and  mar- 
malade that  we  discovers  a  familiar-lookin* 
couple  on  the  dancin'  surface. 

"Why,  there's  Doris!"  says  Vee. 

"And  the  happy  hubby!"  I  adds.  "Hey, 
Westy!  Come  nourish  yourself." 

Maybe  you  remember  that  pair  ?  Sappy  West- 
lake,  anyway.  He's  the  noble,  fair-haired  youth 
that  for  a  long  time  Auntie  had  all  picked  out  as 
the  chosen  one  for  Vee,  and  he  hung  around  con- 
stant until  one  lucky  day  Vee  had  this  Doris 
Ull  come  for  a  visit. 

Kind  of  a  pouty,  peevish  queen,  Doris  was, 
you  know.  Spoiled  at  home,  and  the  job  finished 
at  one  of  these  flossy  girls'  boardin '-schools 
where  they  get  a  full  course  in  court  etiquette 
and  learn  to  call  the  hired  girl  Smith  quite 
haughty. 


4  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

But  she  looked  good  to  Westy,  and,  what  with 
the  help  Vee  and  I  gave  'em,  they  made  a 
match  of  it.  Months  ago  that  must  'a'  been, 
nearly  a  year.  So  I  signals  a  tray-juggler  to 
pull  up  more  chairs,  and  we  has  quite  a  re- 
union. 

Seems  they'd  been  on  a  long  honeymoon  trip : 
done  the  whole  Pacific  coast,  stopped  off  a  while 
at  Banff,  and  worked  back  home  through  Quebec 
and  the  White  Mountains.  Think  of  all  the  car- 
fares and  tips  to  bell-hops  that  means !  He  don't 
have  to  worry,  though.  Income  is  Westy 's 
middle  name.  All  he  knows  about  it  is  that 
there's  a  trust  company  downtown  somewheres 
that  handles  the  estate  and  wishes  on  him  quar- 
terly a  lot  more'n  he  knows  how  to  spend. 
Beastly  bore ! 

"What  a  wonderful  time  you  two  must  have 
had!"  says  Vee. 

Doris  shrugs  her  shoulders. 

"Sightseeing  always  gives  me  a  headache," 
says  she.  "And  in  the  Canadian  Rockies  we 
nearly  froze.  I  was  glad  to  see  New  York  again. 
But  one  tires  of  hotel  life.  Thank  goodness, 
our  house  is  ready  at  last.  We  moved  in  a 
week  ago." 

"  Oh ! "  says  Vee.  t '  Then  you  're  housekeep- 
ing?" 

Doris  nods.    "It's  quite  thrilling,"  says  she. 


ON  THE  WAY  WITH  CYRIL  5 

"At  ten- thirty  every  morning  I  have  the  butler 
bring  me  Cook's  list.  Then  I  'phone  for  the 
things  myself.  That  is,  I've  just  begun.  Let 
me  see,  didn't  I  put  in  to-day's  order  in  my — • 
yes,  here  it  is."  And  she  fishes  a  piece  of  paper 
out  of  a  platinum  mesh  bag.  "Think  of  our 
needing  all  that — just  Harold  and  me,"  she  goes 
on. 

"I  should  say  so,"  says  Vee,  startin'  to  read 
over  the  items.  '  *  *  Sugar,  two  pounds ;  tea,  two 
pounds — '  : 

"Cook  leaves  the  amounts  to  me,"  explains 
Doris;  "so  I  just  order  two  pounds  of  every- 
thing." 

"Oh!"  says  Vee,  readin'  on.  "  'Butter,  two 
pounds;  eggs,  two — '  Do  they  sell  eggs  that 
way,  Doris ! ' ' 

"Don't  they?"  asks  Doris.  "I'm  sure  I  don't 
know. ' ' 

"  'Coffee,  two  pounds,'  "  continues  Vee. 
"  'Yeast  cakes,  two  pounds — '  Why,  wouldn't 
that  be  a  lot  of  yeast  cakes?  They're  such 
little  things!" 

' '  Perhaps, ' '  says  Doris.  ' '  But  then,  I  sha  'n  't 
have  to  bother  ordering  any  more  for  a  month, 
you  see.  Now,  take  the  next  item.  '  Champagne 
wafers,  ten  pounds.'  I'm  fond  of  those.  But 
that  is  the  only  time  I  broke  my  rule.  See — 
' flour,  two  pounds ;  roast  beef,  two  pounds,'  and 


6  WILT  THOU  TOKCHY 

so  on.  Oh,  I  mean  to  be  quite  systematic  in  my 
housekeeping ! ' ' 

" Isn't  she  a  wonder?"  asks  Westy,  gazin' 
at  her  proud  and  mushy. 

"I  say,  though,  Vee,"  goes  on  Doris  en- 
thusiastic, "you  must  come  home  with  us  for 
dinner  to-night.  Do!" 

At  which  Westy  nudges  her  and  whispers 
something  behind  his  hand. 

"Oh,  yes,"  adds  Doris.    "You  too,  Torchy." 

Vee  had  to  'phone  Auntie  and  get  Doris  to 
back  her  up  before  the  special  dispensation  was 
granted;  but  at  six-thirty  the  four  of  us  starts 
uptown  for  this  brownstone  bird-cage  of 
happiness  that  Westy  has  taken  a  five-year 
lease  of. 

"Just  think!"  says  Vee,  as  we  unloads  from 
the  taxi.  "You  with  a  house  of  your  own,  and 
managing  servants,  and — " 

"  Oh ! "  remarks  Doris,  as  she  pushes  the  but- 
ton. "I  do  hope  you  won't  mind  Cyril." 

"Mind  who?"  says  Vee. 

"He — he's  our  butler,"  explains  Westy.  "I 
suppose  he's  a  very  good  butler,  too — the 
man  at  the  employment  agency  said  he  was; 
but— er— " 

"I'm  sure  he  is,"  puts  in  Doris,  "even  if  he 
does  look  a  little  odd.  Then  there  is  his  name 
— Cyril  Snee.  Of  course,  Cyril  doesn't  sound 


ON  THE  WAY  WITH  CYRIL  7 

just  right  for  a  butler,  does  it?  But  Snee  is 
so — so — " 

"Isn't  it?"  says  Vee.  "I  should  call  him 
Cyril." 

"We  started  in  that  way,"  says  Doris,  "but 
he  asked  us  not  to ;  said  he  preferred  to  be  called 
Snee.  It  was  unusual,  and  besides  he  had  pri- 
vate reasons.  So  between  ourselves  we  speak 
of  him  as  Cyril,  and  to  his  face —  Well,  I  sup- 
pose we  shall  get  used  to  saying  Snee,  though — 
Why,  where  can  he  be?  I've  rung  twice  and — 
Oh,  here  he  comes!" 

And,  believe  me,  when  Doris  described  him 
as  lookin'  a  little  odd  she's  said  sumpun.  Cyril 
was  all  of  that.  As  far  as  figures  goes  he's  big 
and  impressive  enough,  with  sort  of  a  dignified 
bulge  around  the  equator.  But  that  face  of  his, 
with  the  white  showin'  through  the  pink,  and 
the  pink  showin'  through  the  white  in  the  most 
unexpected  places !  Like  a  scraped  radish.  No, 
that  don't  give  you  the  idea  of  his  color  scheme 
exactly.  Say  a  half  parboiled  baby.  For  the 
pink  spots  on  his  chin  and  forehead  was  baby 
pink,  and  the  white  of  his  cheeks  and  ears  was 
a  clear,  waxy  white,  like  he'd  been  made  up  by 
an  artist.  Then,  the  thin  gray  hair,  cropped 
so  close  the  pink  scalp  glimmered  through; 
and  the  wide  mouth  with  the  quirky  corners; 
and  the  greenish  pop-eyes  with  the  heavy 


8  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

bags  underneath — well,  that  was  a  map  to 
remember. 

And  the  worst  of  it  was,  I  couldn't.  Sure, 
I'd  met  it.  No  doubt  about  that.  But  I  follows 
the  bunch  into  the  house  like  I  was  in  a  trance, 
starin'  at  Cyril  over  Westy's  shoulder  and 
askin'  myself  urgent,  "Where  have  I  seen  that 
face  before?"  No,  I  couldn't  place  him.  And 
you  know  how  a  thing  like  that  will  bother  you. 
It  got  me  in  the  appetite. 

Maybe  it  was  just  as  well,  too,  for  I'd  got 
half  way  through  the  soup  before  I  notices  any- 
thing the  matter  with  it.  My  guess  was  that 
it  tasted  scorchy.  I  glances  around  at  Vee,  and 
finds  she's  just  makin*  a  bluff  at  eatin'  hers. 
Doris  and  Westy  ain't  even  do  in'  that,  and  when 
I  drops  my  spoon  Doris  signals  to  take  it  away. 
Which  Cyril  does,  movin'  as  solemn  and  dig- 
nified as  if  he  was  usherin*  at  a  funeral.  Then 
there's  a  stage  wait  for  three  or  four  minutes 
before  the  fish  is  brought  in,  Cyril  pad- 
din'  around  ponderous  with  the  plates.  Doris 
beckons  him  up  and  demands  in  a  whisper: 

"  Where  is  Helma?" 

"Helma,  ma'am,"  says  he,  "is  taking  the 
evening  out." 

"But — "  begins  Doris,  then  stops  and  bites 
her  lip. 

The  fish  could  have  stood  some  of  the  surplus 


ON  THE  WAY  WITH  CYRIL  9 

cookin'  that  the  soup  got.  It  wa'n't  exactly 
eatable  fish,  and  the  potato  marbles  that  come 
with  it  should  have  been  numbered;  then  they'd 
be  useful  in  Kelley  pool.  Yes,  they  was  a  bit 
hard.  Doris  gets  red  under  the  eyes  and  waves 
out  the  fish. 

She  stands  it,  though,  until  that  two-pound 
roast  is  put  before  Westy.  Not  such  a  whale 
of  a  roast,  it  ain't.  It's  a  one-rib  affair,  like 
an  overgrown  chop,  and  it  reposes  lonesome 
in  the  middle  of  a  big  silver  platter.  It's  done, 
all  right.  Couldn't  have  been  more  so  if  it  had 
been  cooked  in  a  blast-furnace.  Even  the  bone 
was  charred  through. 

Westy  he  gazes  at  it  in  his  mild,  helpless 
way,  and  pokes  it  doubtful  with  the  carvin'- 
fork. 

"I  say,  Cyr — er — Snee,"  says  he,  "what's 
this?" 

"The  roast,  sir,"  says  the  butler. 

"The  deuce  it  is!"  says  Westy.  "Do — do  I 
use  a  saw  or  dynamite?"  And  he  stares  across 
at  Doris  inquirin'. 

"Snee,"  says  Doris,  her  upper  lip  tremblin', 
"you — you  may  take  it  away." 

"Back  to  the  kitchen,  ma'am?"  asks  Cyril. 

"Ye-es,"  says  Doris.  "Certainly." 

"Very  well,  ma'am,"  says  Cyril,  sort  of 
tragic  and  mysterious. 


10 

He  hadn't  more'n  got  through  the  swing-door 
before  Doris  slumps  in  her  chair,  puts  her  face 
into  her  hands,  and  begins  lettin'  out  the  sobs 
reckless.  Course,  Westy  jumps  to  the  rescue 
and  starts  pattin'  her  on  the  back  and  offerin' 
soothin'  words.  So  does  Vee. 

"There,  there!"  says  Vee.  "We  don't  mind 
a  bit.  Such  things  are  bound  to  happen. " 

"But  I — I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  sobs 
Doris.  "It's — it's  been  getting  worse  every 
day.  They  began  all  right — the  servants,  I 
mean.  But  yesterday  Marie  was  impudent,  and 
to-night  Helma  has  gone  out  when  she  shouldn't, 
and  now  Cook  has  spoiled  everything,  and — " 

We  ain't  favored  with  the  rest  of  the  sad  tale, 
for  just  then  there's  a  quick  scuff  of  feet,  and 
Cyril  comes  skatin'  through  the  pantry  door 
and  does  a  frantic  dive  behind  the  sideboard. 

Doris  straightens  up,  brushes  her  eyes  clear, 
and  makes  a  brave  stab  at  bein*  dignified. 

"Snee,"  says  she,  real  reprovin'. 

"I — I  beg  pardon,  ma'am,"  says  Cyril,  edgin* 
out  and  revealin'  a  broad  black  smooch  on  his 
shirt-front  as  well  as  a  few  other  un-butlery 
signs. 

"Why,  whatever  has  happened  to  you?"  de- 
mands Doris. 

"I'm  not  complaining,  ma'am,"  says  Cyril; 
"but  Cook,  you  see,  she — she  didn't  like  it  be- 


ON  THE  WAY  WITH  CYRIL         11 

cause  of  my  bringing  back  the  roast.  And  I'm 
not  very  good  at  dodging,  ma'am." 

"Oh!"  says  Doris,  shudderin'. 

"It  struck  me  here,  ma'am,"  says  Cyril,  in- 
dicatin'  the  exact  spot. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  see,"  says  Doris.  "I — I'm  sorry, 
Snee." 

"Not  at  all,  ma'am,"  objects  Cyril.  "My 
fault  entirely.  I  should  have  jumped  quicker. 
And  it  might  have  been  the  pudding.  That 
wouldn't  have  hit  so  hard,  but  it  would  have 
splashed  more.  You  see,  ma'am,  I— 

"Never  mind,  Snee,"  cuts  in  Doris,  tryin* 
to  stop  him. 

"I  don't,  ma'am,  I  assure  you,"  says  Cyril, 
pluckin'  a  spray  of  parsley  off  his  collar.  "I 
was  only  going  to  remark  what  a  wonderful 
true  eye  Cook  has,  ma'am;  and  her  in  liquor,  at 
that" 

"Oh,  oh!"  squeals  Doris  panicky. 

"It  began  when  I  brought  her  the  brandy 
for  the  pudding  sauce,  ma'am,"  goes  on  Cyril, 
real  chatty.  "She'd  had  only  one  glass  when 
she  begins  chucking  me  under  the  chin  and  call- 
ing me  Dearie.  Not  that  I  ever  gave  her  any 
cause,  ma'am,  to — " 

1 '  Please ! ' '  wails  Doris.  * '  Harol4 !  Stop  him, 
can't  you?" 

And  say,  can  you  see  Sappy  Westlake  stop- 


12  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

pin'  anything?  Specially  such  a  runnin'  stream 
as  this  here  now  Cyril.  But  he  comes  to  life 
for  one  faint  effort. 

"I  say,  you  know,"  he  starts  in,  " perhaps 
you'd  best  say  no  more  about  it,  Snee." 

"As  you  like,  sir,"  says  Cyril.  "Only,  I  don't 
wish  my  feelings  considered.  Not  in  the  least. 
If  you  care  to  send  back  the  salad  I  will 
gladly—" 

Westy  glances  appealin'  towards  me. 

"Torchy,"  says  he,  "couldn't  you — " 

Couldn't  I,  though !  Say,  I'd  just  been  yearn- 
in'  to  crash  into  this  affair  for  the  last  five 
minutes.  I'd  remembered  Cyril.  At  least,  I 
thought  I  had.  And  I  proceeds  to  rap  for 
order  with  a  table-knife. 

"Excuse  me,  Mr.  Snee,"  says  I,  "but  yon 
ain't  been  called  on  for  a  monologue.  You  can 
print  the  whole  story  of  how  kitchen  neutrality 
was  violated,  issue  a  yellow  book,  if  you  like; 
but  just  for  the  minute  try  to  forget  that  assault 
with  the  roast  and  see  if  you  can  remember  ever 
havin'  met  me  before.  Can  you?" 

Don't  seem  to  faze  Cyril  a  bit.  He  takes  a 
good  look  at  me  and  then  shakes  his  head. 

"I'm  sorry,  sir,"  says  he,  "but  I'm  afraid 
I'm  stupid  about  such  things.  I  can  sometimes 
recall  names  very  readily,  but  faces — " 

"How  long  since  you  quit  jugglin'  pies  and 


ON  THE  WAY  WITH  CYRIL         13 

sandwiches  at  the  quick-lunch  joint?"  says  I. 

"Three  months,  sir,"  says  he  prompt. 

""Tied  the  can  to  you,  did  they?"  says  I. 

"I  was  discharged,  sir,"  says  Cyril.  "The 
proprietor  objected  to  my  talking  so  much  to 
customers.  I  suppose  he  was  quite  right.  One 
of  my  many  failings,  sir." 

"I  believe  you,"  says  I.  "So  you  took  up 
buttling,  eh?  Wa'n't  that  some  nervy  jump?" 

"I  considered  it  a  helpful  step  in  my  career," 
says  he. 

"Your  which?"  says  I. 

"Perhaps  I  should  put  it,"  says  he,  "that 
the  work  seemed  to  offer  the  discipline  which 
would  make  me  most  useful  to  our  noble  order." 

And  as  he  says  the  last  two  words  he  puts 
his  palms  at  right  angles  to  his  ears,  thumbs 
in,  and  bows  three  times. 

"Eh?"  says  I,  gawpin*. 

"I  refer,"  says  Cyril,  "to  the  Brotherhood 
of  the  Sacred  Owls,  which  is  also  named  the 
Sublime  Order  of  Humility  and  Wisdom." 

And  once  more  he  does  the  ear  wigwag.  Be- 
lieve me,  he  had  us  all  gaspin'. 

"Vurra  good,  Eddie!"  says  I.  "Sacred 
Owls,  eh  ?  What  is  that — one  of  these  insurance 
schemes  ? ' ' 

"There  are  both  mortuary  and  sick  benefits 
appertaining  to  membership,"  says  Cyril,  "but 


14 

our  chief  aim  and  purpose  is  to  acquire  humility 
and  wisdom.  It  so  happens  that  I  have  been 
named  as  candidate  for  Grand  Organizer  of  the 
East,  and  at  our  next  solemn  conclave,  to  be 
held—" 

"I  get  you,"  says  I.  "I  can  see  where  you 
might  find  some  practice  in  bein'  humble  by  but- 
tling but  how  about  gettin'  wise?" 

"With  humility  comes  wisdom,  as  our  public 
ritual  has  it,"  says  Cyril.  "In  the  text-book 
which  I  studied — 'The  Perfect  Butler ' — there 
was  very  little  about  being  humble,  however. 
But  my  cousin,  who  conducts  an  employment 
agency,  assured  me  that  could  only  be  acquired 
by  practice.  So  he  secured  me  several  posi- 
tions. He  was  wholly  correct.  I  have  been  dis- 
charged on  an  average  of  once  a  week  for  the 
last  two  months,  and  on  each  occasion  I 
have  discovered  newer  and  deeper  depths  of 
humility." 

I  draws  a  long  breath  and  gazes  admirin'  at 
Cyril.  Then  I  turns  to  the  Westlakes. 

"Westy,"  says  I,  "do  you  want  to  accommo- 
date Mr.  Snee  with  a  fresh  chance  of  perfectin' 
himself  for  the  Sublime  Order?" 

He  nods.    So  does  Doris. 

"It's  a  unanimous  vote,  Cyril,"  says  I. 
* '  You  're  fired.  Not  for  f  ailin '  to  duck  the  roast, 
understand,  but  because  you're  too  gabby." 


ON  THE  WAY  WITH  CYRIL         15 

" Thank  you,  sir,"  says  he,  actin'  a  little  dis- 
appointed. ' '  I  am  to  leave  at  once,  I  suppose  f ' ' 

1  'No,"  says  I.  "Stop  long  enough  in  the 
kitchen  to  tell  Cook  she  gets  the  chuck,  too. 
After  that,  if  you  ain't  qualified  as  Grand  Im- 
perial Organizer  of  the  whole  United  States, 
then  the  Sacred  Owls  don't  know  their  business. 
By-by,  Cyril.  We're  backin'  you  to  win,  re- 
member. ' ' 

And  as  I  pushes  him  through  the  pantry  door 
I  locks  it  behind  him.  Followin'  which,  Doris 
uses  the  powder-puff  under  her  eyes  a  little  and 
we  adjourns  to  the  Plutoria  palm-room,  where 
we  had  a  perfectly  good  dinner,  all  the  humility 
Westy  could  buy  with  a  two-dollar  tip,  and  no 
folksy  chatter  on  the  side. 

Next  day  the  Westlakes  calls  up  another 
agency,  and  by  night  they  had  an  entire  new 
line  of  help  on  the  job. 

What  do  you  guess,  though?  Here  yesterday 
afternoon  I  leaves  the  office  on  the  jump  and 
chases  up  to  the  apartment  house  where  Vee 
and  Auntie  are  settled  for  the  winter.  My  idea 
was  that  I  might  catch  Vee  comin'  home  from  a 
shoppin'  orgie,  or  the  matinee,  or  something, 
and  get  a  few  minutes'  conversation  in  the 
lobby. 

The  elevator-boy  says  she's  out,  too,  so  it 
looks  like  I  was  a  winner.  I  waits  half  an  hour 


16  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

and  she  don't  show  up,  and  I'm  just  about  to 
take  a  chance  on  ringin'  up  Auntie  for  informa- 
tion, when  in  she  comes,  chirky  and  smilin',  with 
rose  leaves  sprinkled  on  both  cheeks  and  her 
eyes  sparklin'.  Also  she  has  a  bundle  of  books 
under  one  arm. 

"Why  the  literature ?"  says  I.  "Goin'  to 
read  Auntie  to  sleep!" 

"There!"  says  she,  poutin'  cute.  "I  wasn't 
going  to  let  anyone  know.  I've  started  in  at 
college. ' ' 

"Wha-a-at!"  says  I.  "You  ain't  never  goin* 
to  be  a  lady  doctor  or  anything  like  that,  are 
you?" 

"I  am  taking  a  course  at  Columbia,"  says 
Vee,  "in  domestic  science.  Doris  is  doing  it,  too. 
And  such  fun !  To-day  we  learned  how  to  make 
a  bed — actually  made  it  up,  too.  To-morrow  I 
am  going  to  boil  potatoes. ' ' 

' '  Hel-lup ! ' '  says  I.  ' '  You  are  ?  Say,  how  long 
does  this  last?" 

"It's  a  two-year  course,"  says  Vee. 

"Stick  to  it,"  says  I.  "That'll  give  me  time 
to  take  lessons  from  Westy  on  how  to  get  an 
income  wished  onto  me." 

As  it  stands,  though,  Vee's  got  me  distanced. 
Please,  ain't  somebody  got  a  plute  aunt  to 
spare! 


CHAPTER  II 

TOWING  CECIL  TO  A  SMEAR 

JUST  think !  If  it  had  turned  out  a  little  dif- 
ferent I  might  have  been  called  to  stand  on  a 
platform  in  front  of  City  Hall  while  the  Mayor 
wished  a  Victoria  Cross  or  something  like  that 
on  me. 

No,  I  ain't  been  nearer  the  front  than  Third 
Avenue,  but  at  that  I've  come  mighty  near  get- 
tin'  on  the  firm'  line,  and  the  only  reason  I 
missed  out  on  pullin'  a  hero  stunt  was  that 
Maggie  wa'n't  runnin'  true  to  form. 

It  was  like  this.  Here  the  other  mornin',  as 
I'm  sittin'  placid  at  my  desk  dictatin'  routine 
correspondence  into  a  wax  cylinder  that's  war- 
ranted not  to  yank  gum  or  smell  of  frangipani 
— sittin'  there  dignified  and  a  bit  haughty,  like 
a  highborn  private  sec.  ought  to,  you  know — 
who  should  come  paddin'  up  to  my  elbow  but  the 
main  wheeze,  Old  Hickory  Ellins. 

" Son,"  says  he,  "can  any  of  that  wait?" 

"Guess  it  wouldn't  spoil,  sir,"  says  I, 
switchin'  off  the  duflicker. 

' *  Good ! ' '  says  he.  "I  think  I  can  employ  your 

17 


18  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

peculiar  talents  to  better  advantage  for  the  next 
few  hours.  I  trust  that  you  are  prepared  to 
face  the  British  War  Office?" 

Suspectin'  that  he's  about  to  indulge  in  his 
semi-annual  josh,  I  only  grins  expectant. 

"We  have  with  us  this  morning,"  he  goes  on, 
"one  Lieutenant  Cecil  Fothergill,  just  arrived 
from  London.  Perhaps  you  saw  him  as  he  was 
shown  in  half  an  hour  or  so  ago?" 

"The  solemn-lookin*  gink  with  the  long 
face,  one  wanderin'  eye,  and  the  square-set 
shoulders?"  says  I.  "Him  in  the  light  tan 
ridin '-breeches  and  the  black  cutaway?" 

"Precisely,"  says  Mr.  Ellins. 

"Huh!"  says  I.  "Army  officer?  I  had  him 
listed  as  a  rail-bird  from  the  Horse  Show." 

"He  presents  credentials  signed  by  General 
Kitchener,"  says  Old  Hickory.  "He's  looking 
up  munition  contracts.  Not  the  financial  end. 
Nor  is  he  an  artillery  expert.  Just  exactly  what 
he  is  here  for  I've  failed  to  discover,  and  I  am 
too  busy  to  bother  with  him." 

"I  get  you,"  says  I.  "You  want  him 
shunted." 

Old  Hickory  nods. 

"Quite  delicately,  however,"  he  goes  on. 
"The  Lieutenant  seems  to  have  something  on 
his  mind — something  heavy.  I  infer  that  he 
wishes  to  do  a  little  inspecting." 


TOWING  CECIL  TO  A  SMEAR       19 

"Oh!"  says  I. 

You  see,  along  late  in  the  summer,  one  of  our 
Wall  Street  men  had  copped  out  a  whalin'  big 
shell-case  contract  for  us,  gayly  ignorin'  the  fact 
that  this  was  clean  out  of  our  line. 

How  Old  Hickory  did  roast  him  for  it  at  the 
time !  But  when  he  come  to  figure  out  the  profits, 
Mr.  Ellins  don't  do  a  thing  but  rustle  around, 
lease  all  the  stray  factories  in  the  market,  from 
a  canned  gas  plant  in  Bayonne  to  a  radiator 
foundry  in  Yonkers,  fit  'em  up  with  the  proper 
machinery,  and  set  'em  to  turnin'  out  battle 
pills  by  the  trainload. 

"I  gather,"  says  Mr.  Ellins,  "that  the  Lieu- 
tenant suspects  we  are  not  taking  elaborate  pre- 
cautions to  safeguard  our  munition  plants  from 
— well,  Heaven  knows  what.  So  if  you  could 
show  him  around  and  ease  his  mind  any  it  would 
be  helpful.  At  least,  it  would  be  a  relief  to  me 
just  now.  Come  in  and  meet  him." 

My  idea  was  to  chirk  him  up  at  the  start. 

"Howdy,  Lieutenant,"  says  I,  extendin'  the 
Cordial  palm. 

But  both  the  Lieutenant's  eyes  must  have 
been  wanderin',  for  he  don't  seem  to  notice  my 
friendly  play. 

"Ha-ar-r-r  yuh,"  he  rumbles  from  some- 
where below  his  collar-button,  and  with  great 
effort  he  manages  to  focus  on  me  with  his  good 


20  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

lamp.  For  a  single-barreled  look-over,  it's  a 
keen  one,  too — like  bein'  stabbed  with  a  cheese- 
tester.  But  it's  soon  over,  and  the  next  minute 
he's  listenin'  thoughtful  while  Old  Hickory  is 
explainin'  how  I'm  the  one  who  can  tow  him 
around  the  munition  shops. 

"Torchy,"  Mr.  Ellins  winds  up  with,  shootin' 
me  a  meanin'  look  from  under  his  bushy  eye- 
brows, '  *  I  want  you  to  show  the  Lieutenant  our 
main  works." 

"Eh?"  says  I,  gawpin'.  For  he  knew  very 
well  there  wa'n't  any  such  thing. 

His  left  eyelid  does  a  slow  flutter. 

"The  main  works,  you  understand,"  he  re- 
peats. "And  see  that  Lieutenant  Fothergill  is 
well  taken  care  of.  You  will  find  the  limousine 
waiting." 

"Yes,  sir,"  says  I.   "I'm  right  behind  you." 

Course,  if  Mr.  Eobert  had  been  there  instead 
of  off  honeymoonin',  this  would  have  been  his 
job.  He  'd  have  towed  Cecil  to  his  club,  fed  him 
Martinis  and  vintage  stuff  until  he  couldn't 
have  told  a  32-inch  shell  from  an  ashcan; 
handed  him  a  smooth  spiel  about  capacity, 
strain  tests,  shipping  facilities,  and  so  on,  and 
dumped  him  at  his  hotel  entirely  satisfied  that 
all  was  well,  without  having  been  off  Fifth 
Avenue. 

The  best  I  can  do,  though,  is  to  steer  him  into 


TOWING  CECIL  TO  A  SMEAR       21 

a  flossy  Broadway  grill,  shove  him  the  wine- 
card  with  the  menu,  and  tell  him  to  go  the  limit. 

He  orders  a  pot  of  tea  and  a  combination 
chop. 

"Oh,  say,  have  another  guess,"  says  I. 
"What's  the  matter  with  that  squab  caserole 
and  something  in  a  silver  ice-bucket?" 

"Thank  you,  no,"  says  he.  "I — er — my 
nerves,  you  know." 

I  couldn't  deny  that  he  looked  it,  either.  Such 
a  high-strung,  jumpy  party  he  is,  always  glanc- 
in'    around    suspicious.    And   that   wanderin* 
store  eye  of  his,  scoutin'  about  on  its  own  hook 
independent  of  the  other,  sort  of  adds  to  the 
general  sleuthy  effect.    Kind  of  weird,  too. 

But  I  tries  to  forget  that  and  get  down  to 
business. 

"Surprising  ain't  it,"  says  I,  "how  many  of 
them  shells  can  be  turned  out  by — " 

"S-s-s-sh!"  says  he,  glancin'  cautious  at  the 
omnibus-boy  comin'  to  set  up  our  table. 

I 1  Eh  ? ' '  says  I,  after  we  've  been  supplied  with 
rolls  and  sweet  butter  and  ice  water.    "Why  the 
panic?" 

* '  Spies ! "  he  whispers  husky. 

"What,  him?"  says  I,  starin'  after  the  in- 
nocent-lookin'  party  in  the  white  apron. 

"There's  no  telling,"  says  Cecil.  "One  can't 
be  too  careful.  And  it  will  be  best,  I  think,  for 


22  WILT  THOU  TOECHY 

you  to  address  me  simply  as  Mr.  Fothergill. 
As  for  the — er — goods  you  are  producing,  you 
might  speak  of  them  as — er — hams,  you  know." 

I  expect  I  gawped  at  him  some  foolish.  Think 
of  springin'  all  that  mystery  dope  right  on 
Broadway!  And,  as  I'm  none  too  anxious  to 
talk  about  shells  anyway,  we  don't  have  such 
a  chatty  luncheon.  I'm  just  as  satisfied.  I 
wanted  time  to  think  what  I  should  exhibit  as 
the  main  works. 

That  Bayonne  plant  wa'n't  much  to  look  at, 
just  a  few  sheds  and  a  spur  track.  I  hadn't 
been  to  the  Yonkers  foundry,  but  I  nacl  an  idea 
it  wa'n't  much  more  impressive.  Course,  there 
was  the  joint  on  East  153d  Street.  I  knew  that 
well  enough,  for  I'd  helped  negotiate  the  lease. 

It  had  been  run  by  a  firm  that  was  buildin' 
some  new  kind  of  marine  motors,  but  had  gone 
broke.  Used  to  be  a  stove  works,  I  believe. 

Anyway,  it's  only  a  two-story  cement-block 
affair,  jammed  in  between  some  car-barns  on 
one  side  and  a  brewery  on  the  other.  Hot 
proposition  to  trot  out  as  the  big  end  of  a  six- 
million-dollar  contract!  But  it  was  the  best  I 
had  to  offer,  and  after  the  Lieutenant  had  fin- 
ished his  Oolong  and  lighted  a  cigarette  I  loads 
him  into  the  limousine  again  and  we  shoots 
uptown. 

"Here  we  are,"  says  I,  as  we  turns  into  a 


TOWING  CECIL  TO  A  SMEAR       23 

cross  street  just  before  it  ends  in  the  East 
Eiver^.  "The  main  works,"  and  I  waves  my 
hand  around  casual. 

"Ah,  yes,"  says  he,  gettin'  his  eye  on  the  tall 
brick  stack  of  the  brewery  and  then  lettin'  his 
gaze  roam  across  to  the  car-barns. 

"Temporary  quarters,"  says  I.  "Kind  of 
miscellaneous,  ain't  they?  Here's  the  main 
entrance.  Let's  go  in  here  first."  And  I  steers 
him  through  the  office  door  of  the  middle 
buildin'.  Then  I  hunts  up  the  superintendent. 

"Just  takin'  a  ramble  through  the  works," 
says  I.  "Don'i  bother.  We'll  find  our  way." 

Some  busy  little  scene  it  is,  too,  with  all  them 
lathes  and  things  goin',  belts  whirrin'  overhead, 
and  workmen  in  undershirts  about  as  thick  as 
they  could  be  placed. 

I  towed  Cecil  in  and  out  of  rooms,  up  and 
down  stairs,  until  he  must  have  been  dizzy,  and 
ends  by  leadin'  him  into  the  yard. 

"Storage  sheds,"  says  I,  pointin'  to  the  neat 
rows  of  shell-cases  piled  from  the  ground  to  the 
roof.  "And  a  dozen  motor-trucks  haulin'  'em 
away  all  the  time." 

The  Lieutenant  he  inspects  some  of  'em, 
lookin'  wise;  and  then  he  walks  to  the  back, 
where  there's  a  high  board  fence  with  barbed 
wire  on  top.  "What's  over  there?"  says  he. 

"Blamed  if  I  know,"  says  I. 


24  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

"It's  rather  important,"  says  he.  "Let's 
have  a  look." 

I  didn't  get  the  connection,  but  I  helped  him 
shove  a  packin'-case  up  against  the  fence,  so 
he  could  climb  up.  For  a  minute  or  so  he  stares, 
then  he  ducks  down  and  beckons  to  me. 

"I  say,"  he  whispers.  "Come  up  here.  Don't 
show  your  head.  There!  What  do  you  make 
of  that?" 

So  I'm  prepared  for  something  tragic  and 
thrillin'.  But  all  I  can  see  is  an  old  slate-roofed 
house,  one  of  these  weather-beaten,  dormer- 
windowed  relics  of  the  time  when  that  part  of 
town  was  still  in  the  suburbs.  There's  quite  a 
big  yard  in  the  back,  with  a  few  scrubby  old 
pear  trees,  a  double  row  of  mangy  box-bushes, 
and  other  traces  of  what  must  have  been  a 
garden. 

In  the  far  corner  is  a  crazy  old  summer-house 
with  a  saggin'  roof  and  the  sides  covered  with 
tar  paper.  There's  a  door  to  it,  fastened  with 
a  big  red  padlock. 

Standin'  on  the  back  porch  of  the  house  are 
two  of  the  help,  so  I  judged.  One  is  a  square- 
built  female  with  a  stupid,  heavy  face,  while  the 
other  is  a  tall,  skinny  old  girl  with  narrow-set 
eyes  and  a  sharp  nose. 

"Well,"  says  I,  " where 's  your  riot?" 

"S-s-s-sh!"  says  he.    "They're  up  to  some 


TOWING  CECIL  TO  A  SMEAR       25 

mischief.  One  of  them  is  hiding  something 
under  her  shawl.  Watch. ' ' 

Sure  enough,  the  skinny  one  did  have  her  left 
elbow  stuck  out,  and  there  was  a  bulge  in  the 
shawl. 

"Looks  like  a  case  of  emptyin'  the  ashes,'* 
says  I. 

"Or  of  placing  a  bomb,'*  whispers  the  Lieu- 
tenant. 

"Mooshwaw!"  says  I.  "Bomb  your  aunt! 
What  for  should  they — " 

"Look  now!"  he  breaks  in.  "There!" 

They're  advancin'  in  single  file,  slow  and 
stealthy,  and  gazin'  around  cautious.  Mainly 
they  seem  to  be  watchin'  the  back  fire-escapes 
of  the  flat  buildin'  next  door,  but  now  and  then 
one  of  'em  turns  and  glances  towards  the  old 
house  they've  just  left.  They  make  straight  for 
the  shack  in  the  corner  of  the  yard,  and  in  a 
minute  more  the  fat  one  has  produced  a  key 
and  is  fumblin'  with  the  red  padlock. 

She  opens  the  door  only  far  enough  to  let  the 
slim  one  slip  in,  then  stands  with  her  back 
against  it,  her  eyes  rollin'  first  one  way  and  then 
the  other. 

Two  or  three  minutes  the  slim  one  was  in 
there,  then  she  slides  out,  the  door  is  locked, 
and  she  scuttles  off  towards  the  house,  the  wide 
one  waddlin'  behind  her. 


26  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

"My  word!"  gasps  the  Lieutenant.  "Right 
against  the  wing  of  your  factory,  that  shed  is. 
And  a  bomb  of  that  size  would  blow  it  into 
match-wood." 

"That's  so,"  says  I. 

Course,  we  hadn't  really  seen  any  bomb ;  but, 
what  with  the  odd  notions  of  them  two  females 
and  the  Lieutenant's  panicky  talk,  I  was  feelin' 
almost  jumpy  myself. 

"A  time-fuse,  most  likely,"  says  he,  "set  for 
midnight.  That  should  give  us  several  hours. 
We  must  find  out  who  lives  in  that  house." 

"Ought  to  be  simple,"  says  I.    "Come  on." 

We  chases  around  the  block  and  rings  up  the 
janitor  of  the  flat  buildin'.  He's  a  wrinkled, 
blear-eyed  old  pirate,  just  on  his  way  to  the  cor- 
ner with  a  tin  growler. 

"Yah!  You  won't  git  in  to  sell  him  no 
books,"  says  he,  leerin'  at  us. 

"Think  so?"  says  I,  displayin'  a  quarter 
temptin'.  "Maybe  if  we  had  his  name,  though, 
and  knew  something  about  him,  we  might — " 

"It's  Bauer,"  says  the  janitor,  eyein'  the  two 
bits  longin'.  "Herman  Z.  Bauer;  a  big  brewer 
once,  but  now — yah,  an  old  cripple.  Gout,  they 
say.  And  mean  as  he  is  rich.  See  that  high 
fence?  He  built  that  to  shut  off  our  light — the 
swine !  Bauer,  his  name  is.  You  ask  for  Her- 
man Bauer.  Maybe  you  get  in." 


TOWING  CECIL  TO  A  SMEAB       27 

"Thanks,  old  sport,"  says  I,  slippin'  him  the 
quarter.  *  *  Give  him  your  best  regards,  shall  I ! ' ' 

And  as  he  goes  off  chucklin'  the  Lieutenant 
whispers  hoarse : 

"Hah!  I  knew  it.  Bauer,  eh?  And  to-night 
he'll  be  sitting  at  one  of  those  back  windows, 
his  ears  stuffed  with  cotton,  watching  to  see 
your  plant  blown  up.  We  must  have  the  con- 
stables here  right  away." 

"On  what  charge?"  says  I.  "That  two  of 
the  kitchen  maids  was  seen  in  their  own  back 
yard?  You  know  you  can't  spring  that  safety- 
of-the-realm  stuff  over  here.  The  police  would 
only  give  us  the  laugh.  We  got  to  have  some- 
thing definite  to  tell  the  sergeant.  Let 's  go  after 
it." 

"But  I  say!"  protests  Cecil.  "Just  how,  you 
know?" 

"Not  by  stickin'  here,  anyway,"  says  I. 
"Kick  in  and  use  your  bean,  is  my  program. 
Come  along  and  see  what  happens." 

So  first  off  we  strolls  past  and  has  a  look  at 
the  place.  It's  shut  in  by  a  rusty  iron  fence 
with  high  spiked  pickets.  The  house  sets  well 
back  from  the  sidewalk,  and  the  front  is  nearly 
covered  by  some  sort  of  vine.  At  the  side  there 
are  double  gates  openin'  into  a  grass-grown 
driveway. 

I  was  just  noticin'  that  they  was  chained  and 


28 

locked  when  the  Lieutenant  gives  me  a  nudge 
and  pulls  me  along  by  the  coat  sleeve.  I  gets 
a  glimpse  of  the  square-built  female  waddlin' 
around  the  corner  of  the  house.  We  passes  by 
innocent  and  hangs  up  in  front  of  a  plumber's 
shop,  starin'  in  at  a  fascinatin'  display  of  one 
bathtub  and  a  second-hand  hot-water  boiler. 
Out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye,  though,  I  could 
see  her  scout  up  and  down  the  street,  unfasten 
the  gate,  and  then  disappear. 

"Huh!"  says  I.  "Kitchen  comp'ny  ex- 
pected." 

"Or  more  conspirators,"  adds  Cecil.  "By 
Jove!  Isn't  this  one  now!" 

There's  no  denyin'  he  looked  the  part,  this 
short-legged,  long-armed,  heavy-podded  gent 
with  the  greasy  old  derby  tilted  rakish  over  one 
ear.  Such  a  hard  face  he  has,  a  reg'lar  low- 
brow map,  and  a  neck  like  a  choppin '-block. 
His  stubby  legs  are  sprung  out  at  the  knees,  and 
his  arms  have  a  good  deal  the  same  curve. 

"Built  like  a  dachshund,  ain't  he?"  I  re- 
marks. 

"Quite  so,"  says  Fothergill.  "See,  he's  stop- 
ping. And  he  has  a  bundle  under  one  arm." 

"Overalls,"  says  I.     "Plumber,  maybe." 

"Isn't  that  a  knife-handle  sticking  out  of  the 
end  of  the  bundle?"  asks  the  Lieutenant. 

So  it  was;  a  butcher  knife,  at  that.    He  has 


TOWING  CECIL  TO  A  SMEAR       29 

stopped  opposite  the  double  gates  and  is 
scawlin'  around.  Then  he  glances  quick  at  the 
house.  A  side  shutter  opens  just  then  and  a 
dust-cloth  is  shaken  vigorous.  Seein'  which,  he 
promptly  pushes  through  the  gates. 

"Ha!"  says  the  Lieutenant.  "A  signal. 
He'll  be  the  one  to  attach  the  fuse  and  light  it, 
eh?" 

Well,  I  admit  that  up  to  that  time  I  hadn't 
been  takin'  all  this  very  serious,  discountin' 
most  of  Cecil's  suspicions  as  due  to  an  over- 
worked imagination.  But  now  I'm  beginnin'  to 
feel  thrills  down  my  spine. 

What  if  this  was  a  bomb  plot?  Some  sort 
of  bunk  was  being  put  over  here — no  gettin' 
away  from  that.  And  if  one  of  our  shell  fac- 
tories was  in  danger  of  being  dynamited,  here 
was  my  cue  to  make  a  medal  play,  wa'n't  it? 

"I  am  for  telephoning  the  authorities  at 
once,"  announces  Cecil. 

"Ah,  you  don't  know  our  bonehead  cops," 
says  I.  "Besides,  if  we  can  block  the  game 
ourselves,  what's  the  use?  Let's  get  'em  in  the 
act.  I'm  going  to  pipe  off  our  friend  with  the 
meat-knife." 

"I — I've  only  a  .34-caliber  automatic  with 
me,"  says  the  Lieutenant,  reachin'  into  his  side 
pocket. 

"Well,  you  don't  want  a  machine-gun,  do 


30  WILT  THOU  TOECHY 

you?"  says  I.  "And  don't  go  shootin'  reck- 
less. Here,  lemme  get  on  the  other  side.  Close 
to  the  house,  now,  on  the  grass,  until  we  can 
get  a  peek  around  the — " 

"S-s-s-sh!"   says    Cecil,   grippin'   my  arm. 

He  was  strong  on  shushin'  me  up,  the  Lieu- 
tenant was.  This  time,  though,  he  had  the  right 
dope ;  for  a  few  steps  more  and  we  got  a  view 
of  the  back  porch. 

And  there  are  the  two  maids,  hand  in  hand, 
watchin'  the  motions  of  the  squatty  gent,  who 
is  unlcckin'  the  summer-house.  He  disappears 
inside. 

At  that  Cecil  just  has  to  cut  loose.  Before  I 
can  stop  him,  he's  stepped  out,  pulled  his  gun, 
and  is  wavin'  it  at  the  two  females. 

* 'I  say,  now!  Hands  up!  No  nonsense,"  he 
orders. 

"Howly  saints!"  wails  the  square-built 
party,  clutchin'  the  slim  one  desperate.  "Mag- 
gie! Maggie!" 

Maggie  she's  turned  pale  in  the  gills,  her 
mouth  is  hangin'  open,  and  her  eyes  are  bugged ; 
but  she  ain't  too  scared  to  put  up  an  argument. 

* '  Have  yez  a  warrant  ? ' '  she  demands.  * '  Anny- 
ways,  my  Cousin  Tim  Fealey'll  go  bail  for  us. 
An'  if  it  was  that  Swede  janitor  next  door  made 
the  complaint  on  us  I'll— 

1 1  Woman ! ' '  breaks  in  the  Lieutenant.  '  *  Don 't 


TOWING  CECIL  TO  A  SMEAR       31 

you  know  that  you  have  been  apprehended  in 
a  grave  offense  I  You 'd  best  tell  all.  Now,  who 
put  you  up  to  this?  Your  master,  eh?" 

'  *  Howly  saints !  Mr.  Bauer ! ' '  groans  the  fat 
one. 

"For  the  love  of  the  saints,  don't  tell  him!" 
says  Maggie.  "Don't  tell  Mr.  Bauer,  there's 
a  dear.  It  was  off'm  Cousin  Tim  we  got 
it." 

"That  miscreant  in  the  shed  there?"  asks 
the  Lieutenant. 

"Him?"  says  Maggie.  "Lord  love  ye,  no. 
That's  only  Schwartzenberger,  from  the  slaugh- 
ter-house. And  please,  Mister,  it  '11  be  gone  the 
mornin' — ivry  bit  gone." 

"Oh,  will  it!"  says  Cecil  sarcastic.  "But 
you'll  be  in  prison  first." 

"Wurra!  Wurra!"  moans  the  fat  female. 
"Save  us,  Maggie!  Let  him  have  it  for  the 
takin's." 

'  *  I  will  not,  then, ' '  says  Maggie.  ' '  Not  if  he 's 
the  president  of  the  Board  of  Health  himself." 

"Enough  of  this,"  says  the  Lieutenant. 
"Hands  up,  you  bomb  plotters!" 

But  about  then  I'd  begun  to  acquire  the  hunch 
that  we  might  be  makin'  a  slight  mistake,  and 
that  it  was  time  for  me  to  crash  in.  Which  I 
does. 

"Excuse  me,"  says  I;  "but  maybe  it  would 


32  WILT  THOU  TOECHY 

help,  Maggie,  if  you'd  say  right  out  what  it  is 
you've  got  in  the  shed  there." 

"What  is  ut?"  says  she,  tossin'  her  head  de- 
fiant. "As  though  you  didn't  know!  Well,  it's 
a  pig,  then." 

"A  pig!"  sneers  the  Lieutenant.  "Very 
likely,  that  is!" 

"Yez  didn't  think  it  was  a  hip-pot-ta-mus, 
did  ye  ? "  comes  back  Maggie.  ' '  An '  why  should 
you  be  after  botherin'  us  with  your  health 
ordinances — two  poor  girls  that  has  a  chance  to 
turn  a  few  pennies,  with  pork  so  dear?  'Look 
at  all  that  good  swill  goin'  to  waste,'  says  I  to 
Katie  here.  'An'  who's  to  care  if  I  do  boil  some 
extra  praties  now  an'  then?  Mr.  Bauer's  that 
rich,  ain't  he?  An'  what  harm  at  all  should 
there  be  in  raisin'  one  little  shoat  in  th'  back 
yard?'  So  there,  Mister !  Do  your  worst.  An' 
maybe  it's  only  a  warnin'  I'll  get  from  th'  jus- 
tice when  he  hears  how  Schwartzenberger 'a 
killed  and  dressed  and  taken  him  off  before  day- 
light. There  he  goes,  the  poor  darlint !  That's 
his  last  squeal." 

We  didn't  need  to  stretch  our  ears  to  catch 
it.  I  looks  over  at  the  Lieutenant  and  grins 
foolish.  But  he  wouldn't  be  satisfied  until 
Maggie  had  towed  him  out  to  view  the  remains. 
He's  pink  behind  the  ears  when  he  comes  back, 
too. 


TOWING  CECIL  TO  A  SMEAE       33 

"Please,  Mister  Inspector,"  says  Maggie, 
"you'll  not  have  us  up  this  time,  will  yez?" 

"kah!"  says  Cecil. 

"Seem'  it's  you,"  says  I,  "he  won't.  Course, 
though,  a  report  of  this  plot  of  yours '11  have 
to  be  made  to  the  British  War  Office." 

"Oh,  I  say  now!"  protests  the  Lieutenant. 

And  all  the  way  down  to  his  hotel  he  holds 
that  vivid  neck  tint. 

"Well,"  says  Old  Hickory,  as  I  drifts  back 
to  the  office,  "did  you  and  the  Lieutenant  dis- 
cover any  serious  plot  of  international  char- 
acter?" 

*  *  Sure  thing ! ' '  says  I.  * '  We  found  a  contra- 
band Irish  pig  in  Herman  Bauer's  back  yard. 

"Wha-a-at?"  he  demands. 

"If  the  pig  had  been  a  bomb,  and  its  tail  a 
time-fuse,"  says  I,  "it  would  have  wrecked  our 
main  works.  As  it  is,  we've  had  a  narrow 
escape.  But  I  don't  think  Cecil  will  bother  us 
any  more.  He's  too  good  for  the  army,  anyway. 
He  ought  to  be  writin'  for  the  movies." 


CHAPTER  HI 

TOECHY  HANDS  OUT  A  SPILL 

MAYBE  IVe  indulged,  now  and  then,  in  a  few 
remarks  on  Auntie.  But,  say,  there's  no  danger 
of  exhaustin'  the  subject — not  a  chance.  For 
she's  some  complicated  old  girl,  take  it  from 
me.  First  off,  there's  that  stick-around  dis- 
position of  hers.  Now,  I  expect  that  just  nat- 
urally grew  on  her,  same  as  my  pink  thatch  did 
on  me.  She  can't  help  it;  and  what's  the  use 
blamin'  her  for  it? 

So,  when  I  drop  in  for  my  reg'lar  Wednesday 
and  Sunday  night  calls,  the  main  object  of  the 
expedition  being  to  swap  a  little  friendly  chatter 
with  Vee,  and  I  find  Auntie  planted  prominent 
and  permanent  in  the  sittin'-room,  why,  I  just 
grins  and  makes  the  best  of  it. 

A  patient  and  consistent  sitter-out,  Auntie  is. 
And  you  know  that  face  of  hers  ain't  exactly 
the  chirky  sort.  Don't  encourage  you  to  get 
chummy,  or  tip  her  the  confidential  wink,  or 
chuck  her  under  the  chin.  Nothing  like  that — • 
no. 

Not  a  reg'lar  battle-ax,  you  understand.  For 
34 


TORCHY  HANDS  OUT  A  SPILL      35 

all  that,  she  ain't  such  a  bad-lookin'  old  dame, 
when  you  get  her  in  a  dim  light.  Though  the 
expression  she  generally  favors  me  with,  while 
it  ain't  so  near  assault  and  battery  as  it  used 
to  be,  wouldn't  take  the  place  of  two  lumps  in 
a  cup  of  tea. 

But  you  kind  of  get  used  to  that  acetic  acid 
stuff  after  a  while;  and,  since  I'm  announced 
by  a  reg'lar  name  now — "Meestir  Beel-lard"  is 
Hernia's  best  stab  at  Ballard — and  Auntie 
knowin'  that  I  got  a  perfectly  good  uncle  be- 
hind me,  besides  bein'  a  private  sec.  myself, 
why,  she  don't  mean  morn'n  half  of  it. 

Besides,  even  with  her  sittin'  right  there  in 
the  room,  there's  a  lot  doin'  that  she  ain't  in 
on.  Trust  Vee.  Say,  she  can  drum  out  classical 
stuff  on  the  piano  and  fire  a  snappy  line  of 
repartee  at  me  all  the  while,  just  loud  enough 
for  me  to  catch  and  no  more,  without  battin'  an 
eye.  Say,  I'm  gettin'  quite  a  musical  education, 
just  helpin'  to  stall  off  Auntie  that  way.  And 
you  should  see  the  cute  schemes  Vee  puts  over 
— settin'  a  framed  photo  so  it  throws  the  light 
in  the  old  girl's  eyes,  or  shiftin'  our  chairs  so 
she  has  to  stretch  her  neck  to  keep  track  of  us. 

Makes  an  evenin'  call  quite  an  excitin'  game; 
and  when  we  work  in  a  few  minutes  of  hand- 
holdin',  or  I  get  away  with  a  hasty  clinch,  why, 
that  scores  for  our  side.  So,  for  a  personally 


36  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

conducted  affair,  it  ain't  so  poor.  I'm  missin' 
no  dates,  I  notice.  And  tuck  this  away;  if  it 
was  a  case  of  Vee  and  a  whole  squad  of  aunts, 
or  an  uninterrupted  two-some  with  one  of  these 
nobody-home  dolls,  I'd  pick  Vee  and  the  gallery. 
Uh-huh!  I'm  just  that  good  to  myself. 

All  was  goin'  along  smooth  and  merry,  too, 
until  one  Wednesday  night  I  discovers  another 
lid  ahead  of  mine  on  the  hall  table.  It 's  a  glossy 
silk  tile,  with  a  pair  of  gray  castor  gloves 
folded  neat  alongside.  Seein'  which  I  reaches 
past  Helma  for  the  silver  card-tray. 

"Huh!"  says  I  under  my  breath.  "Now, 
who  the  giddy  gallowampuses  is  Clyde  Creigh- 
ton?  " 

"Vair  nice  gentlemans,  Meester  Creeton," 
whispers  Helma. 

"I  know,"  says  I;  "you're  judgin'  by  the 
hat." 

She  springs  that  silly  grin  of  hers,  as  usual. 
No  matter  what  I  say,  it  gets  open-faced  mo- 
tions out  of  Helma.  But  I  really  wasn't  feelin' 
so  humorous.  Whoever  he  was,  this  Creighton 
guy  had  come  the  wrong  evenin'.  Course,  I 
judged  it  must  be  Vee  he's  callin'  on,  and  I 
wasn't  strong  for  a  three-handed  session  just 
then.  There  was  something  special  I  wanted 
to  talk  over  with  Vee  this  particular  evening 
and  I  couldn't  see  why — 


TORCHY  HANDS  OUT  A  SPILL      37 

But  my  first  glimpse  of  Clyde  soothes  me 
down  a  lot.  He  has  curly  gray  hair,  also  a 
mustache  that's  well  frosted  up.  He's  a  tall, 
slim  built  party,  with  a  wide  black  ribbon  to 
tie  him  to  his  eyeglasses.  Seems  to  be  enter- 
tainin'  Auntie. 

"Ah!"  says  he,  inspectin'  me  casual  over 
the  shell  rims.  "Mr.  Ballard?"  And,  with 
a  skimpy  little  nod,  he  turns  back  to  Auntie 
and  goes  on  where  he  broke  off,  leavin'  me  to 
shake  hands  with  myself  if  I  wanted  to. 

I  expect  it  served  me  right,  cuttin'  in  abrupt 
on  such  a  highbrow  conversation  as  that. 
Something  about  the  pre-Raphael  tendencies 
of  the  Barbizon  school,  I  think. 

Culture!  Say,  if  I'm  any  judge,  Claude  was 
battin'  about  400.  It  fairly  dripped  from  him. 
Talk  about  broad  a's— he  spilled  'em  easy  and 
natural,  a  font  to  a  galley;  and  he  couldn't 
any  more  miss  the  final  g  than  a  telephone  girl 
would  overlook  rollin'  her  r's.  And  such  grace- 
ful gestures  with  the  shell-rimmed  glasses,  wav- 
in*  'em  the  whole  length  of  the  ribbon  when  he 
got  real  interested. 

I  don't  think  I  ever  saw  Auntie  come  so 
near  beamin'  before.  She  seems  right  at  home, 
fieldin'  that  line  of  chat.  And  Vee,  too,  is  more 
or  less  under  the  spell.  As  for  me,  I'm  on  the 


38  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

outside  lookin'  in.  I  did  manage  though,  after 
doin'  the  dummy  act  for  half  an  hour,  to  lead 
Vee  off  to  the  window  alcove  and  get  in  a  few 
words. 

"Who's  the  professor1?"  says  I. 

"Why,  he  isn't  a  professor,"  says  Yee. 

"He's  got  the  patter,"  says  I.  "Old  friend 
of  Auntie's,  I  take  it  I" 

No,  it  wasn't  quite  that.  Seems  the  late  Mrs. 
Creighton  had  been  a  chum  of  Auntie's  'way 
back  when  they  was  girls,  and  the  fact  had  only 
been  discovered  when  Clyde  and  Auntie  got  to- 
gether a  few  days  before  at  some  studio  tea 
doins'. 

"About  how  late  was  the  late  Mrs.  C.  C.?" 
says  I. 

"Oh,  he  has  been  a  widower  for  several  years, 
I  think,"  says  Vee.  "Poor  man!  Isn't  he  dis- 
tinguished-looking ? ' ' 

"Ye-e-es,"  says  I.    "A  bit  stagey." 

' '  How  absurd ! ' '  says  she.  ' '  Isn  't  it  fascinat- 
ing to  hear  him  talk?" 

' '  Reg 'lar  paralyzin ', ' '  says  I.  "  I  was  gettin ' 
numb  from  the  knees  down." 

"Silly!"  says  Vee,  givin'  me  a  reprovin'  pat. 
"Do  be  quiet ;  he  is  telling  Auntie  about  his  wife 
now." 

Yep,  he  was.  Doin'  it  beautiful  too,  sayin' 
what  a  lovely  character  she  had,  how  congenial 


TORCHY  HANDS  OUT  A  SPILL      39 

they  was,  and  what  an  inspiration  she'd  been 
to  him  in  his  career. 

11  Indeed,"  he  goes  on,  "if  it  had  not  been  for 
the  gentle  influence  of  my  beloved  Alicia,  I 
should  not  be  what  I  am  to-day." 

"Say,"  I  whispers,  nudgin'  Vee,  "what  is  he 
to-day?" 

"Why,"  says  she,  "why — er — I  don't  quite 
know.  He  collects  antiques,  for  one  thing." 

* '  Does  he  ? "  says  I.  * '  Then  maybe  he 's  after 
Auntie." 

First  off  Vee  snickers,  after  which  she  lets 
on  to  be  peeved  and  proceeds  to  rumple  my 
hair.  Clyde  catches  her  at  it  too,  and  looks  sort 
of  pained.  But  Auntie's  too  much  interested 
in  the  reminiscences  to  notice.  Yes,  there's  no 
discountin'  the  fact  that  the  old  girl  was  fallin' 
for  him  hard. 

Not  that  we  thought  much  about  it  at  that 
time.  But  later  on,  when  I  finds  he's  been  drop- 
pin'  in  for  tea,  been  there  for  dinner  Saturday, 
and  has  beat  me  to  it  again  Sunday  evening  I 
begins  to  sprout  suspicions. 

"He  seems  to  be  gettin'  the  habit,  eh?"  I  sug- 
gests to  Vee. 

She  don't  deny  it. 

"Who's  doin'  the  rushing"  says  I,  "him  or 
Auntie?" 

Vee  shrugs  her  shoulders.   "He  came  around 


40  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

to-night,"  says  she,  "to  show  Auntie  some 
miniatures  of  the  late  Alicia.  She  asked  to  see 
them.  Look!  They  are  examining  one  now." 

Sure  enough  they  were,  with  their  heads  close 
together.  And  Auntie  is  pattin'  him  soothin' 
on  the  arm. 

"Kind  of  kittenish  motions,  if  you  ask  me," 
says  I.  "She's  gazin'  at  him  mushy,  too." 

' '  I  never  knew  Auntie  to  be  quite  so  absurd, ' ' 
says  Vee. 

"Say,"  I  whispers,  "how  about  givin'  'em 
a  sample  of  the  butt-in  act,  so  they'll  know  how 
it  seems?" 

Vee  smothers  a  giggle. 

"Let's!"  says  she. 

So  we  leaves  the  alcove  and  crashes  in  on 
this  close-harmony  duet.  Vee  has  to  see  the 
miniatures  of  Alicia,  and  she  has  to  show  'em 
to  me.  Also  we  pulls  up  chairs  and  sits  there, 
listenin'  with  our  mouths  open,  right  in  the 
midst  of  things. 

Auntie  does  her  best  to  shunt  us,  too. 

"Verona,"  says  she,  "why  don't  you  and 
Torchy  get  out  the  chafing-dish  and  make  some 
of  that  delicious  maple  fudge  you  are  so  fond 
of?" 

' '  "Why,  Aunty ! ' '  says  Vee.  '  *  When  you  know 
I've  stopped  eating  candy  for  a  month." 

"You  might  play  something  for  him,"  is 


s 


"  TARDON    ME    FOR    CHANGING    MY    MIND/    SAYS 
CLYDE,  AS  WE  HITS  THE  SIDEWALK,  'BUT  I  THINK 

I    PREFER    TO    WALK    DOWNTOWN/       'JlJST    WHAT    I 
WAS   COIN'   TO   SPRING   ON    YOU/   SAYS   I." 


TORCHY  HANDS  OUT  A  SPILL      41 

Auntie's  next  suggestion.  "That  new  chan- 
son." 

"But  we'd  much  rather  listen  to  you  and  Mr. 
Creighton,"  says  Vee.  "Hadn't  we,  Torchy?" 

"Uh-huh,"  says  I. 

"Quite  flattering,  I'm  sure,"  puts  in  Clyde, 
smilin'  sarcastic,  while  Auntie  shoots  a  doubt- 
ful look  at  me. 

But  we  hung  around  just  the  same,  and  be- 
fore ten  o'clock  Creighton  announces  that  he 
must  really  be  going. 

"Me  too,"  says  I,  cheerful.  "I'll  ride  down 
with  you  if  you  don't  mind." 

"Oh,  charmed!"  says  Clyde. 

It  wasn't  that  I  was  so  strong  for  his  com- 
p'ny,  but  I'd  just  annexed  the  idea  that  it 
might  be  a  good  hunch  to  get  a  little  line  on 
exactly  who  this  Mr.  Clyde  Creighton  was.  Vee 
don't  seem  to  know  anything  very  definite 
about  him,  outside  of  the  Alicia  incident;  and 
it  struck  me  that  if  there  was  a  prospect  of 
havin'  him  in  the  fam'ly,  as  it  were,  someone 
ought  to  see  his  credentials.  Anyway,  it  would- 
n't do  any  harm  to  pump  him  a  bit. 

"Pardon  me  for  changing  my  mind,"  says 
Clyde,  as  we  hits  the  sidewalk,  "but  I  think  I 
prefer  to  walk  downtown." 

"Just  what  I  was  goin'  to  spring  on  you," 
says  I.  "Fine  evenin'  for  a  little  thirty-block 


42 

saunter,  too.  Let's  see,  the  Plutoria's  where 
you're  stayin',  ain't  it?" 

"Why — er — yes,"  says  he,  hesitatin'. 

I  couldn't  make  out  why  he  should  choke 
over  it,  for  I'd  heard  him  say  distinctly  he  was 
livin'  there.  But  it  was  amazin'  what  an  effect 
the  night  air  had  on  his  conversation  works. 
Seemed  to  dry  'em  up. 

"Interested  in  antiques,  are  you?"  says  I, 
sort  of  folksy. 

"Somewhat,"  says  Clyde,  steppin'  out  brisk. 

"Odd  line,"  says  I.  "Now,  I  could  never 
see  much  percentage  in  havin'  grandfathers' 
clocks  and  old  spinnin '-wheels  and  such  junk 
around. ' ' 

"Really,"  says  he. 

"One  of  your  fads,  I  expect?"  says  I. 

"M-m-m,"  says  he. 

"Shouldn't  think  you'd  find  room  in  a  hotel 
for  such  stuff,"  I  goes  on,  doin'  a  hop-skip 
across  a  curb,  "or  do  you  have  another  joint, 
too?" 

"Quite  so,"  says  he.    "Studio." 

"Oh!"  says  I.    "Whereabouts?" 

"In  town,"  says  he. 

"Yes,  most  of  'em  are,"  says  I.  "But  I  ex- 
pect you'll  be  gettin'  married  again  some  of 
these  days  and  settin'  up  a  reg'lar  home,  eh?" 

He  stops  short  and  gives  me  a  stare. 


TORCHY  HANDS  OUT  A  SPILL      43 

"If  I  feel  the  need  of  discussing  the  project," 
says  he,  "I  shall  remember  that  you  are  avail- 
able-." 

"Oh,  don't  mention  it,"  says  I. 

Somehow,  I  didn't  tap  Clyde  for  so  much 
real  information.  In  fact,  if  I'd  been  at  all 
touchy  I  might  have  worked  up  the  notion  that 
I  was  bein'  snubbed. 

I  keeps  step  with  Mr.  Creighton  clear  to  his 
hotel,  where  he  swings  in  the  Fifth  Avenue  en- 
trance without  wastin'  any  breath  over  fond 
adieus.  I  can't  say  why  I  didn't  go  on  home 
then,  instead  of  hangin'  up  outside.  Maybe  it 
was  because  the  sidewalk  taxi  agent  had  sort 
of  a  familiar  look,  or  perhaps  I  had  an  idea  I 
was  bein'  sleuthy. 

Must  have  been  four  or  five  minutes  I'd  been 
standin'  there,  starin'  at  the  entrance,  when 
out  through  the  revolvin'  door  breezes  Clyde, 
puffin'  a  cigarette  and  swingin'  his  walkin'- 
stick  jaunty.  He  don't  spot  me  until  he's 
about  to  brush  by,  and  then  he  stops  short. 

"Forgot  something?"  I  suggests. 

"Ah — er — evidently,"  says  he,  and  whirls 
and  marches  back  into  the  hotel. 

"Huh!"  says  I,  indicatin'  nothin'  much. 

"Where  to,  sir?"  says  someone  at  my  elbow. 

It's  the  taxi  agent,  who  has  drifted  up  and 
mistaken  me  for  a  foolish  guest. 


44  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

Kind  of  a  throaty,  husky  voice  he  has,  that 
you  wouldn't  forget  easy;  and  I  knew  them 
aeroplane  ears  of  his  couldn't  be  duplicated. 

"Why,  hello,  Loppy!"  says  I.  "How  long 
since  you  quit  runnin*  copy  in  the  Sunday 
room?" 

"Well,  blow  me!"  says  he.    "Torchy,  eh?" 

That's  what  comes  of  havin'  been  in  the  news- 
paper business  once.  You  never  know  when 
you're  going  to  run  across  one  of  the  old  crowd. 
I  cut  short  the  reunion,  though,  to  ask  about 
Creighton. 

"The  swell  in  the  silk  lid  I  just  had  words 
with,"  says  I. 

"Don't  place  him,"  says  Loppy.  "Never 
turned  a  flag  for  him,  anyway.  Why?" 

"Oh,  I'd  kind  of  like  to  get  a  sketch  of  him," 
says  I. 

"That's  easy,"  says  Loppy.  "Remember 
Scanlon,  that  used  to  be  doorman  at  Head- 
quarters?" 

"Squint?"  says  I. 

"Same  one,"  says  he.  "Well,  he's  inside — 
one  of  the  house  detective  squad.  His  night  on, 
too.  And  say,  if  your  man's  one  that  hangs 
out  here  you  can  bank  on  Squint  to  give  you 
the  story  of  his  life.  Just  step  in  and  send  a 
bell-hop  after  Squint.  Say  I  want  him." 

And  inside  of  two  minutes  we  had  Squint 


TORCHY  HANDS  OUT  A  SPILL      45 

with  us.  He  remembers  me  too,  and  when  he 
finds  I'm  an  old  friend  of  Whitey  Weeks  he 
opens  up. 

"Yes,  I've  seen  that  party  around  more  or 
less,"  says  he.  "Creighton,  eM  Well,  he's  no 
guest.  Yes,  I'm  sure  he  don't  room  here.  He 
just  blew  through  the  north  exit.  What's  his 
line?" 

"Antiques,  he  says,"  says  I. 

"Oh,  sure!"  says  Squint.  "Now  I  have  him 
located.  He's  a  free-lunch  hitter;  I  remember 
one  of  the  barkeeps  grouching  about  him.  But 
say,  if  you're  after  full  details  you  ought  to 
have  a  talk  with  Colonel  Brassle.  He  knows 
him.  And  the  Colonel  ought  to  be  strolling  in 
from  the  Army  and  Navy  Club  soon.  Want 
to  wait?" 

"Long  as  I've  started  this  thing,  I  might  as 
well  stay  with  it,"  says  I. 

Yep,  I  waits  for  the  Colonel.  Some  enthusi- 
astic describer,  Colonel  Brassle  is,  when  he  gets 
going.  It  was  near  1  A.M.  when  I  finally  tears 
myself  away;  but  I'm  loaded  up  with  enough 
facts  about  Creighton  to  fill  a  book.  And  few 
of  'em  was  what  you  might  call  complimentary 
to  Clyde.  For  one  thing,  his  dear  Alicia  hadn't 
found  him  as  inspirin'  as  he  had  her.  Anyway, 
she  'd  complained  a  lot  about  his  hang-over  dis- 
position, and  finally  quit  him  for  good  five  or 


46  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

six  years  before  she  passed  on.  Also,  Clyde 
was  no  plute.  He  was  existin'  chiefly  on  bluff 
at  present,  and  that  studio  of  his  was  a  rear 
loft  over  a  delivery-truck  garage  down  off 
Sixth  Avenue.  Then,  there  was  other  items  just 
as  interestin'. 

But  how  I  was  goin'  to  get  it  all  on  record 
for  Auntie  I  couldn't  quite  dope  out.  Anyway, 
there  was  no  grand  rush;  it  would  keep.  So  I 
just  lets  things  slide  for  a  day  or  so.  Maybe 
next  Wednesday  evenin'  I'd  have  a  chance  to 
throw  out  a  hint. 

Then,  here  Tuesday  afternoon  I  gets  this 
trouble  call  from  Vee.  She's  out  at  the  corner 
drug  store  on  the  'phone. 

"It's  about  Auntie,"  says  she.  "She  is  act- 
ing so  queerly." 

"Any  more  so  than  usual!"  I  asks. 

"She  is  going  somewhere,  and  she  hasn't  told 
me  a  word  about  it,"  says  Vee.  "I  found  her 
traveling-bag,  all  packed,  hidden  under  the  hall- 
seat." 

"The  old  cut-up!"  says  I.  "What  about 
Creighton — he  been  around  lately!" 

"Every  afternoon  and  evening,"  says  Vee. 
"He's  to  take  her  to  a  concert  somewhere  this 
evening.  I'm  not  asked." 

"Shows  his  poor  taste,"  says  I.  "He's  due 
there  about  eight  o'clock,  eh?" 


TORCHY  HANDS  OUT  A  SPILL      47 

"Seven- thirty,"  says  Vee.  "But  I  don't 
know  what  to  think,  Torchy — the  traveling-bag 
and—" 

"Don't  bother  a  bit,  Vee,"  says  I.  "Leave 
it  to  me.  If  it's  Clyde  at  the  bottom  of  this, 
I've  as  good  as  got  him  spiked  to  the  track. 
Let  Auntie  pack  her  trunk  if  she  wants  to,  and 
don't  say  a  word.  Give  the  giddy  old  thing  a 
chance.  It'll  be  all  the  merrier  afterwards." 

"But — but  I  don't  understand." 

"Me  either,"  says  I.  "I'm  a  grand  little 
guesser,  though.  And  I'll  be  outside,  in  am- 
bush for  Clyde,  from  seven  o'clock  on." 

"Will  you?"  says  Vee,  sighin'  relieved. 
"But  do  be  careful,  Torchy.  Don't — don't  be 
reckless." 

"Pooh!"  says  I.  "That's  my  middle  name. 
If  I  get  slapped  on  the  wrist  and  perish  from 
it,  you'll  know  it  was  all  for  you." 

Course,  it  would  have  been  more  heroic  if 
Clyde  hadn't  been  such  a  ladylike  gent.  As  it 
is,  he's  about  as  terrifyin'  as  a  white  poodle. 
So  I'm  still  breathin'  calm  and  reg'lar  when  I 
sees  him  rollin'  up  in  a  cab  about  seven-twenty- 
five.  I'm  at  the  curb  before  he  can  open  the 
taxi  door. 

"Sorry,"  says  I,  "but  I'm  afraid  it's  all  off." 

"Eh?"  says  he,  gawpin'  at  me. 

"And  you  with  your  suit-case  all  packed 


48  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

too,"  says  I.  "How  provokin'!  But  they're 
apt  to  change  their  minds,  you  know." 

"Do  you  mean,"  says  he,  "that — er — ah — " 

"Something  like  that,"  I  breaks  in.  "Any- 
way, you  can  judge.  For,  the  fact  is,  some 
busybody  has  been  gossipin'  about  your  little 
trick  of  bawlin'  out  Alicia  over  the  coffee  and 
rolls  and  draggin'  her  round  by  the  hair." 

"Wha-a-at?"  he  gasps. 

"You  didn't  mention  the  divorce,  did  you?" 
I  goes  on.  "Nor  go  into  details  about  your 
antique  business?  That  Marie  Antoinette 
dressin '-table  game  of  yours,  for  instance. 
You  know  there  is  such  a  thing  as  floodin'  the 
market  with  genuine  Connecticut-made  relics 
like  that." 

Gets  him  white  about  the  gills,  this  jab  does. 

* '  Puppy ! "  he  hisses  out.  ' '  Do  you  insinuate 
that—"  ' 

"Not  me,"  says  I.  "I'm  too  polite.  But 
when  you  unload  duplicates  of  the  late  Oliver 
Cromwell's  writin'-desk  you  ought  to  see  that 
both  don't  go  to  friends  of  Colonel  Brassle. 
Messy  old  party,  the  Colonel,  and  I  understand 
he's  tryin'  to  induce  'em  to  make  trouble. 
Course,  you  might  explain  all  that  to  Auntie; 
but  in  her  present  state  of  mind —  Eh  1  Must 
you  be  goin'?  Any  word  to  send  up?  Shall  I 
tell  her  this  wilt-thou  date  is  postponed  to — " 


TORCHY  HANDS  OUT  A  SPILL      49 

"Bah!"  says  Clyde,  bangin'  the  taxi  door 
shut -and  signalin'  the  chauffeur  to  get  under 
way.  I  think  I  saw  him  shakin'  his  fist  back 
at  me  as  he  drives  off.  So  rough  of  him! 

Upstairs  I  finds  Auntie  all  in  a  flutter  and 
tryin'  to  hide  it.  Vee  looks  at  me  inquirin'  and 
anxious,  but  I  chats  on  for  a  while  just  as  if 
nothing  had  happened.  Somehow,  I  was  en- 
joyin'  watchin'  Auntie  squirm.  My  mistake 
was  in  forgettin'  that  Vee  was  fidgety,  too.  No 
sooner  has  Auntie  left  the  room,  to  send  Helma 
scoutin'  down  to  the  front  door,  than  I'm  re- 
minded. 

"Ouch!"  says  I.  Vee  sure  can  pinch  when 
she  tries.  I  decides  to  report. 

"Oh,  by  the  way,"  says  I,  as  Auntie  comes 
back,  "I  just  ran  across  Mr.  Creighton." 

"Yes!"  says  Auntie  eager. 

"He  wasn't  feelin'  quite  himself,"  says  I. 
"Sudden  attack  of  something  or  other.  He 
didn't  say  exactly.  But  I  expect  that  concert 
excursion  is  scratched." 

"Scratched!"  says  Auntie,  lookin'  dazed. 

"Canceled,"  says  I.  "Anyway,  he  went  off 
in  a  hurry." 

"But — but  he  was  to  have — "  And  there 
she  stops. 

"I  know,"  says  I.  "Maybe  he'll  explain 
later,  though." 


50  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

No  wonder  she  was  dizzy  from  it,  and  it's 
quite  natural  that  soon  after  she  felt  one  of 
her  bad  headaches  comin'  on.  So  Vee  and 
Helma  got  busy  at  once.  After  they'd  tucked 
her  away  with  the  ice-bag  and  the  smellin'- 
salts,  she  asked  to  be  let  alone;  so  durin'  the 
next  half  hour  I  had  a  chance  to  tell  Vee  all 
about  Creighton  and  his  career. 

"But  he  did  seem  so  refined!"  says  Vee. 

"You  got  to  be,"  says  I,  "to  deal  in  fake 
antiques.  His  mistake  was  in  tacklin'  some- 
thing genuine";  and  I  nods  towards  a  picture 
of  Auntie.  ' 

"I  don't  see  how  I  can  ever  tell  her,"  says 
Vee. 

"It  would  be  a  shame,"  says  I.  "Them  late 
romances  come  so  sudden.  Why  not  just  let  her 
press  it  and  put  it  away?  Clyde  will  never 
come  back." 

"Just  think,  Torchy,"  says  Vee,  sort  of  snug- 
glin'  up.  "If  it  hadn't  been  for  you!" 

"That's  my  aim  in  life,"  says  I — "to  prove 
I'm  needed  in  the  fam'ly." 


CHAPTER  IV 

HOW  HAM  PASSED  THE  BUCK 

I  EXPECT  you'll  admit  that  when  Mr.  Robert 
slides  out  at  11  A.M.  and  don't  show  up 
again  until  after  three  he 's  stretchin '  the  lunch 
hour  a  bit.  But,  whatever  other  failin's  I  may 
have,  I  believe  in  bein'  easy  with  the  boss.  So, 
when  he  breezes  into  the  private  office  in  the 
middle  of  the  afternoon,  I  just  gives  him  the 
grin,  friendly  and  indulgent  like. 

"Well,  Torchy,"  he  calls  over  to  me,  "have  I 
missed  anyone1?" 

"Depends  on  how  it  strikes  you,"  says  I. 
' '  Mr.  Hamilton  Adams  has  near  burned  out  the 
switchboard  tryin'  to  get  you  on  the  'phone. 
Galled  up  four  times." 

"Ham,  eh?"  says  he,  shruggin'  his  shoulders 
careless.  "Then  I  can  hardly  say  I  regret 
being  late.  I  trust  he  left  no  message." 

"This  ain't  your  lucky  day,"  says  I.  "He 
did.  Wants  to  see  you  very  special.  Wants 
you  to  look  him  up." 

"At  the  club,  I  suppose?"  says  Mr.  Robert. 

"No,  at  his  rooms,"  says  I. 

51 


52  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

"The  deuce  he  does!"  says  Mr.  Robert. 
"Why  doesn't  he  come  here  if  it's  so 
urgent?" 

"He  didn't  say  exactly,"  says  I,  "but  from 
hints  he  dropped  I  take  it  he  can't  get  out. 
Sick,  maybe." 

"Humph!"  says  Mr.  Robert,  rubbin'  his  chin 
thoughtful.  "If  that  is  the  case—"  Then  he 
stops  and  stares  puzzled  into  the  front  of  the 
roll-top,  where  the  noon  mail  is  sorted  and 
stacked  in  the  wire  baskets. 

I  don't  hear  anything  more  from  him  for 
two  or  three  minutes,  when  he  signals  me  over 
and  pulls  up  a  chair. 

"Ah — er — about  Ham  Adams,  now,"  he  be- 
gins. 

"Say,  Mr.  Robert,"  says  I,  "you  ain't  never 
goin'  to  wish  him  onto  me,  are  you?  Why,  him 
and  me  wouldn't  get  along  a  little  bit." 

"I  must  concede,"  says  he,  "that  Mr.  Adams 
has  not  a  winning  personality.  Yet  there  are 
redeeming  features.  He  plays  an  excellent 
game  of  billiards,  his  taste  in  the  matter  of  vin- 
tage wines  is  unerring,  and  in  at  least  two 
rather  vital  scrimmages  which  I  had  with  the 
regatta  committee  he  was  on  my  side.  And, 
while  I  feel  that  I  have  more  than  repaid  any 
balance  due —  Well,  I  can't  utterly  ignore  him 
now.  But  as  for  hunting  him  up  this  after- 


HOW  HAM  PASSED  THE  BUCK      53 

noon — "  Mr.  Robert  nods  at  the  stacks  of 
letters. 

"Oh,  all  right,"  says  I.  "What's  his  num- 
ber?" 

Mr.  Robert  writes  it  on  a  card. 

"You  may  as  well  understand  my  position," 
says  he.  * '  I  have  already  invested  some  twenty- 
five  hundred  dollars  in  Mr.  Adams'  uncertain 
prospects.  I  must  stop  somewhere.  Of  course, 
if  he's  ill  or  in  desperate  straits —  Well,  here 
is  another  hundred  which  you  may  offer  or  not, 
as  you  find  best.  I  am  relying,  you  see,  on  your 
somewhat  remarkable  facility  for  rescuing 
truth  from  the  bottom  of  the  well  or  any  other 
foolish  hiding-place." 

"Meaning  I  expect,"  says  I,  "that  you're 
after  a  sort  of  general  report,  eh?" 

"Quite  so,"  says  Mr.  Robert.  "You  see, 
it's  a  business  errand,  in  a  way.  You  go  as  a 
probing  committee  of  one,  with  full  powers." 

"It's  a  tough  assignment,"  says  I,  "but  I'll 
do  my  best." 

For  I'd  seen  enough  of  Ham  Adams  to  know 
he  wa'n't  the  kind  to  open  up  easy.  One  of 
these  bull-necked  husks,  Mr.  Adams  is,  with  all 
the  pleasin'  manners  of  a  jail  warden.  Honest, 
in  all  the  times  he's  been  into  the  Corrugated 
general  offices,  I've  never  seen  him  give  any- 
one but  Mr.  Robert  so  much  as  a  nod.  Always 


54  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

marched  in  like  he  was  goin'  to  trample  you 
under  foot  if  you  didn't  get  out  of  his  way, 
and  he  had  a  habit  of  seowlin'  over  your  head 
like  he  didn't  see  you  at  all. 

I  expect  that  was  his  idea  of  keepin'  the 
lower  classes  in  their  place.  He  was  an  in- 
come aristocrat,  Ham  was.  Always  had  been. 
Phosphate  mines  down  South  somewheres,  left 
to  him  by  an  aunt  who  had  brought  him  up. 
And  with  easy  money  comin'  in  fresh  and  fresh 
every  quarter,  without  havin'  to  turn  a  hand 
to  get  it,  you'd  'most  think  he  could  take  life 
cheerful.  He  don't,  though.  Hardly  anything 
suits  him.  He  develops  into  the  club  grouch, 
starin'  slit-eyed  at  new  members,  and  culti- 
vatin'  the  stony  glare  for  the  world  in  general. 

And  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  his  income  dries 
up.  Stops  absolutely.  Something  about  not 
bein'  able  to  ship  any  more  phosphate  to  Ger- 
many. Anyway,  the  quarterly  stuff  is  all  off. 
I'd  heard  him  takin'  on  about  it  to  Mr.  Robert 
— cussin'  out  the  State  Department,  the 
Kaiser,  the  Allies,  anybody  he  could  think  of 
to  lay  the  blame  to.  Why  didn't  someone  do 
something1?  It  was  a  blessed  outrage.  What 
was  one  to  do? 

Ham's  next  idea  seems  to  be  who  was  one 
to  do;  and  Mr.  Robert,  being  handy,  was 
tagged.  First  off  it  was  a  loan;  a  good-sized 


HOW  HAM  PASSED  THE  BUCK      55 

one ;  then  a  note  or  so ;  and  finally  he  gets  down 
to  a  plain  touch  now  and  then,  when  Mr.  Robert 
couldn't  dodge. 

But  for  a  month  or  more,  until  this  S.  0.  S. 
call  comes  in,  he  don't  show  up  at  all.  So  I'm 
some  curious  myself  to  know  just  what's  struck 
him.  I  must  say,  though,  that  for  a  party 
who's  been  crossed  off  the  dividend  list  for 
more'n  a  year,  he 's  chuckin'  a  good  bluff.  Some 
spiffy  bachelor  apartments  these  are  that  I 
locates — tubbed  bay  trees  out  front,  tapestry 
panels  in  the  reception-room,  and  a  doorman 
uniformed  like  a  rear-admiral.  I  has  to  tell 
the  'phone  girl  who  I  am  and  why,  and  get  an 
upstairs  0.  K.,  before  I'm  passed  on  to  the 
elevator.  Also  my  ring  at  B  suite,  third  floor, 
is  answered  by  a  perfectly  good  valet. 

"From  Mr.  Ellins,  sir!"  says  he,  openin' 
the  door  a  crack. 

"Straight,"  says  I. 

He  swings  it  wide  and  bows  respectful.  A 
classy  party,  this  man  of  Mr.  Adams',  too. 
Nothing  down-and-out  about  him.  Tuxedo, 
white  tie,  and  neat  trimmed  siders  in  front  of 
his  ears.  One  of  these  quiet  spoken,  sleuthy 
movin'  gents  he  is,  a  reg'lar  stage  valet.  But 
he  manages  to  give  me  the  once-over  real 
thorough  as  he's  towin'  me  in. 

"This  way,  sir,"  says  he,  brushin'  back  the 


56  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

draperies  and  shuntin'  me  in  among  the  leather 
chairs  and  Oriental  rugs. 

Standin'  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  with  his 
feet  wide  apart,  is  Mr.  Adams,  like  he  was 
waitin'  impatient.  You'd  hardly  call  him  sick 
abed.  I  expect  it  would  take  a  subway  smash 
to  dent  him  any.  But,  if  his  man  fails  to  look 
the  part  of  better  days  gone  by,  Ham  Adams 
is  the  true  picture  of  a  seedy  sport.  His 
padded  silk  dressin'-gown  is  fringed  along  the 
cuffs,  and  one  of  the  shoulder  seams  is  split; 
his  slippers  are  run  over ;  and  his  shirt  should 
have  gone  to  the  wash  last  week.  Also  his 
chin  is  decorated  in  two  places  with  surgeon's 
tape  and  has  a  thick  growth  of  stubble  on  it. 
As  I  drifts  in  he's  makin'  a  bum  attempt  to 
roll  a  cigarette  and  is  gazin'  disgusted  at  the 
result. 

4 'Why  didn't  Bob  come  himself?"  he  de- 
mands peevish. 

"Bush  of  business,"  says  I.  "He'd  been 
takin'  time  off  and  the  work  piled  up  on  him." 

"Humph!"  says  Adams.  "Well,  I've  got 
to  see  him,  that's  all." 

"In  that  case,"  says  I,  "you  ought  to  drop 
around  about — " 

"Out  of  the  question,"  says  he.  "Look  at 
me.  Been  trying  to  shave  myself.  Besides — 
Well,  I  can't!" 


"Mr.  Robert  thought,"  I  goes  on,  "that  you 
might — ' ' 

"Well?"  breaks  in  Mr.  Adams,  turnin'  his 
back  on  me  sudden  and  glarin'  at  the  draperies. 
"What  is  it,  Nivens?" 

At  which  the  valet  appears,  holdin'  a  bunch 
of  roses. 

"From  Mrs.  Grenville  Hawks,  sir,"  says  he. 
"They  came  wThile  you  were  at  breakfast,  sir." 

"Well,  well,  put  them  in  a  vase — in  there," 
says  Ham.  And  as  Nivens  goes  out  he  kicks 
the  door  to  after  him. 

"Now,  then,"  he  goes  on,  "what  was  it  Mr. 
Robert  thought?" 

"That  you  might  give  me  a  line  on  how 
things  stood  with  you,"  says  I,  "so  he'd  know 
just  what  to  do." 

"Eh?"  growls  Ham.  "Tell  you!  Why, 
who  the  devil  are  you?" 

"Nobody  much,"  says  I.  "Maybe  you  ain't 
noticed  me  in  the  office,  but  I'm  there.  Private 
sec.  to  the  president  of  Mutual  Funding.  My 
desk  is  beyond  Mr.  Robert's,  in  the  corner." 

"Oh,  yes,"  says  Adams;  "I  remember  you 
now.  And  I  suppose  I  may  as  well  tell  you  as 
anyone.  For  the  fact  is,  I'm  about  at  the  end 
of  my  string.  I  must  get  some  money  some- 
where. ' ' 

"Ye-e-es?"  says  I,  sort  of  cagey. 


58  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

"Did  Bob  send  any  by  you?  Did  he!"  sud- 
denly asks  Adams. 

"Some,"  says  I. 

"How  much?"  he  demands. 

"A  hundred,"  says  I. 

"Bah!"  says  he.  "Why,  that  wouldn't— 
See  here;  you  go  back  and  tell  Bob  I  need  a 
lot  more  than  that — a  couple  of  thousand,  any- 
way." 

I  shakes  my  head.  "I  guess  a  hundred  is 
about  the  limit,"  says  I. 

"But  great  Scott!"  says  Adams,  grippin* 
his  hands  desperate.  "I've  simply  got  to- 
Then  he  breaks  off  and  stares  again  towards 
the  door.  Next  he  steps  across  the  room  soft 
and  jerks  it  open,  revealin'  the  classy  Nivens 
standin'  there  with  his  head  on  one  side. 

"Ha!"  snarls  Ham.     "Listening,  eh?" 

"Oh  yes,  sir,"  says  Nivens.  "Naturally, 
sir." 

"Why  naturally?"  says  Adams. 

"I'm  rather  interested,  that's  all,  sir,"  says 
Nivens. 

"Oh,  you  are,  are  you?"  sneers  Ham. 
"Come  in  here." 

He  ain't  at  all  bashful  about  acceptin'  the 
invitation,  nor  our  starin'  at  him  don't  seem 
to  get  him  a  bit  fussed.  In  fact,  he's  about 
the  coolest  appearin*  member  of  our  little  trio. 


HOW  HAM  PASSED  THE  BUCK      59 

Maybe  some  of  that  is  due  to  the  dead  white 
of  his  face  and  the  black  hair  smoothed  back 
so  slick.  A  cucumbery  sort  of  person,  Nivens. 
He  has  sort  of  a  narrow  face,  taken  bow  on, 
but  sideways  it  shows  up  clean  cut  and  al- 
most distinguished.  Them  deep-set  black 
eyes  of  his  give  him  a  kind  of  mysterious  look, 
too. 

"Now,"  says  Ham  Adams,  squarin'  off  be- 
fore him  with  his  jaw  set  rugged,  "perhaps 
you  will  tell  us  why  you  were  stretching  your 
ear  outside?" 

"Wouldn't  it  be  better,  sir,  if  I  explained 
privately!"  suggests  Nivens,  glancin'  at  me. 

"Oh,  him!"  says  Adams.  "Never  mind 
him." 

"Very  well,  sir,"  says  Nivens.  "I  wanted 
to  know  if  you  were  able  to  raise  any  cash.  I 
haven't  mentioned  it  before,  but  there's  a 
matter  of  fifteen  months'  wages  between  us, 
sir,  and — " 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  cuts  in  Ham.  "But 
you  understand  my  circumstances.  That  will 
come  in  time." 

"I'm  afraid  I  shall  have  to  ask  for  a  settle- 
ment very  soon,  sir,"  says  Nivens. 

"Eh I"  gasps  Adams.  "Why,  see  here, 
Nivens;  you've  been  with  me  for  five — six 
years,  isn't  it?" 


60 

" Going  on  seven,  sir,"  says  Nivens. 

"And  during  all  that  time,"  suggests  Ham, 
"I've  paid  you  thousands  of  dollars." 

"I've  tried  to  earn  it  all,  sir,"  says  Nivens. 

"So  you  have,"  admits  Ham.  "I  suppose 
I  should  have  said  so  before.  As  a  valet  you  're 
a  wonder.  You've  got  a  lot  of  sense,  too.  So 
why  insist  now  on  my  doing  the  impossible? 
You  know  very  well  I  can't  lay  my  hands  on  a 
dollar." 

"But  there's  your  friend  Mr.  Ellins,"  says 
Nivens. 

Ham  Adams  looks  over  at  me.  "I  say," 
says  he,  "won't  Bob  stand  for  more  than  a 
hundred!  Are  you  sure?" 

"He  only  sent  that  in  case  you  was  sick," 
says  I. 

"You  see?"  says  Ham,  turnin'  to  Nivens. 
"We've  got  to  worry  along  the  best  we  can 
until  things  brighten  up.  I  may  have  to  sell 
off  some  of  these  things." 

A  cold  near-smile  flickers  across  Nivens'  thin 
lips. 

"You  hadn't  thought  of  taking  a  position, 
had  you,  sir?"  he  asks  insmuatin'. 

"Position!"  echoes  Ham.  "Me?  Why,  I 
never  did  any  kind  of  work — don't  know  how. 
Tell  me,  who  do  you  think  would  give  me  a  job 
at  anything?" 


HOW  HAM  PASSED  THE  BUCK      61 

11  Since  you've  asked,  sir,"  says  Nivens, 
"why,  I  might,  sir." 

Ham  Adams  lets  out  a  gasp. 

"You!"  says  he. 

"It's  this  way,  sir,"  says  Nivens,  in  that 
quiet,  offhand  style  of  his.  "I'd  always  been 
in  the  habit  of  putting  by  most  of  my  wages, 
not  needing  them  to  live  on.  There's  tips,  you 
know,  sir,  and  quite  a  little  one  can  pick  up — 
commissions  from  the  stores,  selling  second- 
hand clothes  and  shoes,  and  so  on.  So  when 
Cousin  Mabel  had  this  chance  to  buy  out  the 
Madame  Ritz  Beauty  Parlors,  where  she'd 
been  forelady  for  so  long,  I  could  furnish  half 
the  capital  and  go  in  as  a  silent  partner." 

"Wha-a-at?"  says  Ham,  his  eyes  bugged. 
"You  own  a  half  interest  in  a  beauty  shop — 
in  Madame  Ritz's?" 

Nivens  bows. 

"That  is  strictly  between  ourselves,  sir," 
says  he.  "I  wouldn't  like  it  generally  known. 
But  it's  been  quite  a  success — twelve  attend- 
ants, sir,  all  busy  from  eleven  in  the  morning 
until  ten  at  night.  Mostly  limousine  trade 
now,  for  we've  doubled  our  prices  within  the 
last  two  years.  You'll  see  our  ads  in  all  the 
theater  programs  and  Sunday  papers.  That's 
what  brings  in  the — " 

"But  see  here,"  breaks  in  Ham,  "how  the 


62  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 


merry  dingbats  would  you  use  me  in  a  beauty 
parlor!  I'm  just  curious." 

Nivens  pulls  that  flickery  smile  of  his  again. 

"That  wasn't  exactly  what  I  had  in  mind, 
sir,"  says  he.  "In  fact,  I  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  active  management  of  Madame  Ritz's; 
only  drop  around  once  or  twice  a  month  to  go 
over  the  books  with  Mabel.  It's  wonderful 
how  profits  pile  up,  sir.  Nearly  ten  thousand 
apiece  last  year.  So  IVe  been  thinking  I  ought 
to  give  up  work.  It  was  only  that  I  didn't 
quite  know  what  to  do  with  myself  after.  I've 
settled  that  now,  though;  at  least,  Mabel  has. 
'You  ought  to  take  your  place  in  society,'  she 
says,  'and  get  married.'  The  difficulty  was, 
sir,  to  decide  just  what  place  I  ought  to  take. 
And  then — well,  it's  an  ill  wind,  as  they  say, 
that  blows  nobody  luck.  Besides,  if  you'll 
pardon  me,  sir,  you  seemed  to  be  losing  your 
hold  on  yours." 

"On— on  mine?"  asks  Ham,  his  mouth  open. 

Nivens  nods. 

"I'm  rather  familiar  with  it,  you  see,"  says 
he.  "Of  course,  I  may  not  fill  it  just  as  you 
did,  but  that  would  hardly  be  expected.  I  can 
try.  That  is  why  I  have  been  staying  on.  I've 
taken  over  the  lease.  The  agent  has  stopped 
bothering  you,  perhaps  you  have  noticed.  And 
I've  made  out  a  complete  inventory  of  the  fur- 


HOW  HAM  PASSED  THE  BUCK      63 

nishings.  In  case  I  take  them  over,  I'll  pay 
you  a- fair  price — ten  per  cent,  more  than  any 
dealer. ' ' 

"Do — do  you  mean  to  say,'*  demands 
Adams,  "that  you  are  paying  my  rent?" 

"Excuse me,  mine,"  says  Nivens.  "The 
lease  has  stood  in  my  name  for  the  last  two 
months.  I  didn't  care  to  hurry  you,  sir;  I 
wanted  to  give  you  every  chance.  But  now,  if 
you  are  quite  at  the  end,  I  am  ready  to  propose 
the  change." 

"Go  on,"  says  Ham,  starin'  at  him.  "What 
change  1 ' ' 

"My  place  for  yours,"  says  Nivens. 

"Eh?"  gasps  Ham. 

"That  is,  of  course,  if  you've  nothing 
better  to  do,  sir,"  says  Nivens,  quiet  and 
soothin'.  "You'd  soon  pick  it  up,  sir,  my 
tastes  being  quite  similar.  For  instance — the 
bath  ready  at  nine;  fruit,  coffee,  toast,  and 
eggs  at  nine-fifteen,  with  the  morning  papers 
and  the  mail  laid  out.  Then  at — " 

"See  here,  my  man,"  breaks  in  Adams, 
breathin'  hard.  "Are  you  crazy,  or  am  I! 
Are  you  seriously  suggesting  that  I  become 
your  valet?" 

Nivens  shrugs  his  shoulders. 

"It  occurred  to  me  you'd  find  that  the  easiest 
way  of  settling  your  account  with  me,  sir," 


64  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

says  he.  "Then,  too,  you  could  stay  on  here, 
almost  as  though  nothing  had  happened.  Quite 
likely  I  should  go  out  a  bit  more  than  you  do, 
sir.  Well,  here  you'd  be :  your  easy  chair,  your 
pictures,  your  favorite  brands  of  cigars  and 
Scotch.  Oh,  I  assure  you,  you'll  find  me  quite 
as  gentlemanly  about  not  locking  them  up  as 
you  have  been,  sir.  I  should  make  a  few 
changes,  of  course;  nothing  radical,  however. 
And,  really,  that  little  back  room  of  mine  is 
very  cozy.  What  would  come  hardest  for  you, 
I  suppose,  would  be  the  getting  up  at  seven- 
thirty  ;  but  with  a  good  alarm  clock,  sir,  you— 

"Stop!"  says  Ham.  "This — this  is  absurd. 
My  head's  swimming  from  it.  And  yet —  Well, 
what  if  I  refuse?" 

Nivens  lifts  his  black  eyebrows  significant. 

"I  should  hope  I  would  not  be  forced  to 
bring  proceedings,  sir,"  says  he.  "Under  the 
Wage  Act,  you  know— 

"Yes,  yes,"  groans  Ham,  slumpin'  into  a 
chair  and  restin'  his  chin  on  his  hands.  "I 
know.  You  could  send  me  to  jail.  I  should 
have  thought  of  that.  But  I — I  didn't  know 
how  to  get  along  alone.  I've  never  had  to, 
you  know,  and — " 

"Precisely,  sir,"  says  Nivens.  "And  allow 
me  to  suggest  that  another  employer  might  not 
have  the  patience  to  show  you  your  duties. 


HOW  HAM  PASSED  THE  BUCK      65 

But  I  shall  be  getting  used  to  things  myself, 
you  know,  and  I  sha'n't  mind  telling  you.  If 
you  say  so,  sir,  we'll  begin  at  once." 

Ham  Adams  gulps  twice,  like  he  was  tryin' 
to  swallow  an  egg,  and  then  asks: 

"Just  how  do — do  you  want  to — to  begin?" 

"Why,"  says  Nivens,  "you  might  get  my 
shaving  things  and  lay  them  out  in  the  bath- 
room. I  think  I  ought  to  start  by — er — dis- 
pensing with  these";  and  he  runs  a  white 
hand  over  the  butler  siders  that  frames  his 
ears. 

Almost  like  he  was  walkin'  in  his  sleep,  Ham 
gets  up.  He  was  headed  for  the  back  of  the 
suite,  all  right,  starin'  straight  ahead  of  him, 
when  of  a  sudden  he  turns  and  catches  me 
watchin'.  He  stops,  and  a  pink  flush  spreads 
from  his  neck  up  to  his  ears. 

"As  you  was  just  sayin',"  says  I,  "don't 
mind  me.  Anyway,  I  guess  this  is  my  exit 
cue. ' ' 

I  tries  to  swap  a  grin  with  Nivens  as  I  slips 
through  the  door.  But  there's  nothing  doing. 
He's  standin'  in  front  of  the  mirror  decidin' 
just  where  he  shall  amputate  those  whiskers. 

First  off  Mr.  Robert  wouldn't  believe  it  at 
all.  Insists  I'm  feedin'  him  some  fairy  tale. 
But  when  I  gives  him  all  the  details,  closin' 
with  a  sketch  of  Ham  startin'  dazed  for  the 


66  WTILT  THOU  TORCHY 

back  bathroom,  he  just  rocks  in  his  chair  and 
'most  chokes  over  it. 

"By  George!"  says  he.  "Ham  Adams 
turning  valet  to  his  own  man !  Oh,  that  is  rich ! 
But  far  be  it  from  me  to  interfere  with  the 
ways  of  a  mysterious  Providence.  Besides, 
in  six  months  or  so  his  income  will  probably 
be  coming  in  again.  Meanwhile —  Well,  we 
will  see  how  it  works  out." 

That  was  five  or  six  weeks  ago,  and  not  until 
Tuesday  last  does  either  of  us  hear  another 
word.  Mr.  Robert  he'd  been  too  busy;  and  as 
for  me,  I'd  had  no  call.  Still,  being  within  a 
couple  of  blocks  of  the  place,  I  thought  I  might 
stroll  past.  I  even  hangs  up  outside  the  en- 
trance a  few  minutes,  on  the  chance  that  one 
or  the  other  of  'em  might  be  goin'  in  or  out, 
I'd  about  given  up  though,  and  was  startin' 
off,  when  I  almost  bumps  into  someone  dodgin' 
down  the  basement  steps. 

It's  Ham  Adams,  with  a  bottle  of  gasoline 
in  one  hand  and  a  bundle  of  laundry  under  his 
arm.  Looks  sprucer  and  snappier  than  I'd 
ever  seen  him  before,  too.  And  that  sour, 
surly  look  is  all  gone.  Why,  he's  almost 
smilin'. 

"Well,  well !"  says  I.  "How's  valetin'  these 
days?" 

"Oh,  it's  you,  is  it?"  says  he,    "Why,  I'm 


HOW  HAM  PASSED  THE  BUCK      67 

getting  along  fine.  Of  course,  I  never  could  be 
quite  so  good  at  it  as — as  Mr.  Nivens  was,  but 
he  is  kind  enough  to  say  that  I  am  doing  very 
well.  Really,  though,  it  is  quite  simple.  I  just 
think  of  the  things  I  should  like  to  have  done 
for  me,  and — well,  I  do  them  for  him.  It's 
rather  interesting,  you  know." 

I  expect  I  gawped  some  myself,  hearing  that 
from  him.  From  Ham  Adams,  mind  you! 

"Ye-e-e-es;  must  be,"  says  I,  sort  of  draggy. 
Then  I  shifts  the  subject.  "How's  Mr.  Nivens 
gettin'  along?"  says  I.  "Ain't  married  yet, 
eh?" 

For  a  second  Ham  Adams  lapses  back  into 
his  old  glum  look. 

"That  is  the  only  thing  that  worries  me," 
says  he.  "No,  he  isn't  married,  as  yet;  but 
he  means  to  be.  And  the  lady — well,  she's  a 
widow,  rather  well  off.  Nice  sort  of  person,  in 
a  way.  A  Mrs.  Grenville  Hawks." 

"Not  the  one  that  used  to  send  you  bunches 
of  roses?"  says  I. 

He  stares  at  me,  and  then  nods. 

"It  seems  that  Mr.  Nivens  had  already 
picked  her  out — before,"  says  he.  "Oh,  there 
was  really  nothing  between  us.  I'd  never  been 
a  marrying  man,  you  know.  But  Mrs.  Hawks 
— well,  we  were  rather  congenial.  She 's  bright, 
not  much  of  a  highbrow,  and  not  quite  in  the 


68  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

swim.  I  suppose  I  might  have—  Oh,  widows, 
you  know.  Told  me  she  didn't  intend  to  stay 
one.  And  now  Mr.  Nivens  has  come  to  know 
her,  in  some  way;  through  his  cousin  Mabel,  I 
suppose.  Knows  her  quite  well.  She  tele- 
phones him  here.  I — I  don't  like  it.  It's  not 
playing  square  with  her  for  him  to—  Well, 
you  see  what  I  mean.  She  doesn't  know  who 
he  was." 

"Uh-huh,"  says  I. 

"But  I'm  not  sure  just  what  I  ought  to  do,'* 
says  he. 

"If  you're  callin'  on  me  for  a  hunch,"  says 
I,  "say  so." 

"Why,  yes,"  says  he.    "What  is  it?" 

"What's  the  matter,"  says  I,  "with  beating 
him  to  it?" 

"Why — er — by  Jove!"  says  Ham.  "I — I 
wonder. ' ' 

He  was  still  standin'  there,  holdin'  the  gaso- 
line bottle  and  gazin'  down  the  basement  steps, 
as  I  passed  on.  Course,  I  was  mostly  joshin' 
him.  Half  an  hour  later  and  I'd  forgot  all 
about  it.  Never  gave  him  a  thought  again 
until  this  mornin*  I  hears  Mr.  Robert  explode 
over  something  he's  just  read  in  the  paper. 

"I  say,  Torchy,"  he  sings  out.  "You  re- 
member Ham  Adams?  Well,  what  do  you 
think  he's  gone  and  done  now?" 


"Opened  a  correspondence  school  for 
valets?"  says  I. 

1  "Married!"  says  Mr.  Robert.  "A  rich 
widow,  too;  a  Mrs.  Grenville  Hawks." 

"Zippo!"  says  I.  "Then  he's  passed  the 
buck  back  on  Nivens." 

"I — er — I  beg  pardon?"  says  Mr.  Robert. 

"You  see,"  says  I,  "Nivens  kind  of  thought 
an  option  on  her  went  with  the  place.  He  had 
Ham  all  counted  out.  But  that  spell  of  real 
work  must  have  done  Ham  a  lot  of  good — must 
have  qualified  him  to  come  back.  Believe  me, 
too,  he'll  never  be  the  same  again." 

"That,  at  least,  is  cheering,"  says  Mr. 
Robert. 


CHAPTER  V 

WITH   ELMER  LEFT   IN 

ALL  I  can  say  is  that  it  was  a  busy  day  at 
the  Corrugated.  Course,  I  might  go  into  de- 
tails, just  as  I  might  put  mustard  in  my  coffee, 
or  lock  Piddie  in  the  bond  safe.  Neither  of 
them  performances  would  be  quite  so  fruity 
as  for  me  to  give  out  particulars  about  this 
special  directors'  meetin'  that  was  goin'  on. 
Speakin'  by  and  large,  though,  when  you  clean 
up  better 'n  thirty  per  cent,  on  a  semi-annual, 
you  got  to  do  some  dividend- jugglin',  ain't 
you?  And  with  them  quiz  committees  so  thick, 
it's  apt  to  be  ticklish  work. 

Anyway,  Old  Hickory  has  chewed  up  four 
brunette  cigars  the  size  of  young  baseball  bats, 
two  of  the  Board  have  threatened  to  resign, 
and  a  hurry  call  has  just  been  sent  out  for  our 
chief  counsel  to  report,  when  Mr.  Robert 
glances  annoyed  towards  the  door.  It's  no- 
body but  fair-haired  Vincent,  that  has  my  old 
place  on  the  gate,  and  he's  merely  peekin'  in 
timid,  tryin'  to  signal  someone. 

"For   heaven's    sake,    Torchy,"    says    Mr. 

70 


WITH  ELMER  LEFT  IN  71 

Robert,  "see  what  that  boys  wants.  I've  al- 
ready waved  him  away  twice.  Of  course,  if 
it  is  anything  important — " 

"I  get  you,"  says  I,  passing  over  to  him  the 
tabulated  reports  I'd  been  sittin'  tight  with. 
Then  I  slips  out  to  where  Vincent  is  waitin'. 

"Buildin'  on  fire?"  says  I. 

"Why,  no,  sir,"  says  he,  goin'  bug-eyed. 

"Oh!"  says  I.  "Then  who  you  got  waitin' 
out  there — Secretary  Daniels  or  the  Czar  of 
Russia?" 

Vincent  pinks  up  like  a  geranium  and  smiles 
shy,  like  he  always  does  when  he's  kidded.  "If 
you  please,  sir,"  says  he,  "it's  only  a  lady;  to 
see  Mr.  Mason,  sir." 

"Huh!"  says  I.  "Lady  trailin'  old  K.  W. 
here,  eh?  Must  be  one  of  the  fam'ly." 

"Oh  no,  sir,"  says  Vincent.  "I'm  quite  sure 
it  isn't." 

"Then  shunt  her,  Vincent,"  says  I.  "For 
you  can  take  it  from  me,  K.  W.  is  in  no  mood 
to  talk  with  stray  females  at  the  present  writ- 
ing. Shoo  her." 

"Ye-e-e-es,  sir,"  says  he;  "but — but  I  wish 
you  would  see  her  a  moment  yourself,  sir." 

"If  it's  as  bad  as  that,"  says  I,  "I  will." 

Pretty  fair  judgment  Vincent  has  too,  as  a 
rule,  even  if  he  does  look  like  a  mommer's  boy. 
Course,  he  can't  give  agents  and  grafters  the 


72  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

quick  back-up,  like  I  used  to.  He  side-tracks 
'em  so  gentle,  they  go  away  as  satisfied  as  if 
they'd  been  invited  in;  and  I  don't  know  but 
his  method  works  just  as  well.  It  ain't  often 
they  put  anything  over  on  him,  either. 

So  I'm  surprised  and  grieved  to  see  what's 
waitin'  for  one  of  our  plutiest  directors  out- 
side the  brass  rail.  In  fact,  I  almost  gasps. 
Lady!  More  like  one  of  the  help  from  the 
laundry.  The  navy  blue  print  dress  with  the 
red  polka  dots  was  enough  for  one  quick  breath, 
just  by  itself.  How  was  that  for  an  afternoon 
street  costume  to  blow  into  the  Corrugated 
general  offices  with  on  a  winter's  day?  True, 
she's  wearin'  a  gray  sweater  and  what  looked 
like  a  man's  ulster  over  it;  but  there's  no  dis- 
guisin'  the  fact  that  the  droopy-brimmed  black 
sailor  was  a  last  summer's  lid.  Anyway,  the 
whole  combination  seems  to  amuse  the  lady 
typists. 

This  party  of  the  polka  dots,  though,  don't 
seem  to  notice  the  stir  she's  causin',  or  don't 
mind  if  she  does.  A  slinij  wiry  young  female 
she  is,  well  along  in  the  twenties,  I  should  say. 
What  struck  me  most  about  her  was  the  tan 
on  her  face  and  hands  and  the  way  her  hair 
was  faded  in  streaks.  Sort  of  a  general  out- 
door look  she  had,  which  is  odd  enough  to  see 
on  Broadway  any  time  of  year. 


WITH  ELMER  LEFT  IN  73 

"Was  it  you  askin'  for  Mr.  Mason?"  says  I, 
begmnin'  to  suspect  that  Vincent  had  made  a 
mistake,  after  all. 

"Yes  indeed,  suh,"  says  she,  sort  of  soft  and 
slurry.  "Ahm  th'  one.  You  jess  tell  him 
Valentina  Tozier's  out  hea-uh.  He'll  know." 

"Oh,  will  he?"  says  I,  a  bit  sarcastic. 
Sorry,  Valentina,  but  I  couldn't  think  of  dis- 
turbin'  Mr.  Mason  now.  Maybe  you  don't 
know  it,  but  he's  a  mighty  busy  man." 

"Well,  there!"  says  she.    "Think  of  that!" 

Then  I  knew  why  it  was  Vincent  had  taken 
a  chance  on  crashin'  into  a  directors'  meetin'. 
He'd  been  hypnotized  by  Miss  Tozier's  smile. 
It  ain't  any  common  open-faced  movement,  be- 
lieve me.  It's  about  the  friendliest,  most 
natural  heart-to-heart  smile  I  ever  got  in 
range  of.  And,  somehow,  it  seems  to  come 
mostly  from  the  eyes;  a  chummy,  confidential, 
trustm"  smile  that  sparkles  with  good  faith 
and  good  nature,  and  kind  of  thrills  you  with 
the  feelin'  that  you  must  be  a  lot  better 'n  you 
ever  suspected.  Honest,  after  one  application 
I  forgets  the  queer  rig  she  has  on,  the  mud- 
colored  hair,  and  the  way  her  chest  slumps  in. 
Whoever  she  might  be  and  whatever  she  might 
want,  I'm  strong  for  givin'  her  the  helpin' 
hand.  If  I  could  have  gone  in  and  led  old 
K.  W.  out  by  the  arm,  I'd  have  done  it.  But 


74  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

you  couldn't  have  pulled  him  away  from  that 
Board  scrap  with  a  donkey-engine.  He  was 
unloadin'  a  ten  months'  grouch  against  some 
of  Old  Hickory's  pet  policies,  Mr.  Mason  was, 
and  he  was  enjoyin'  himself  huge,  even  if  he 
did  know  he  was  due  to  be  steam-rollered  when 
the  vote  was  taken. 

"See  here,  Miss  Tozier,"  says  I,  "it 
wouldn't  do  you  a  bit  of  good  to  see  Mr.  Mason 
now.  He's  all  lathered  up  and  frothin'  at  the 
mouth.  But  in  an  hour  or  so  he'll  be  calmed 
down,  maybe  before.  I  tell  you  what;  you 
stroll  out  and  take  in  the  store  windows  for  a 
spell  and  then  drift  back  later.  Come  up  here 
if  you  like,  or  you  can  wait  in  the  arcade  and 
nail  him  as  he  comes  down  the  elevator." 

She  thanks  me  real  folksy,  pats  Vincent  on 
the  shoulder,  and  starts  for  the  corridor  with 
a  long,  easy  swing  that  some  of  these  barefoot 
poem  dancers  couldn't  execute  to  save  their 
necks. 

"Huh!"  says  I  to  Vincent.  "Put  the  spell 
on  us,  didn't  she?" 

All  through  the  rest  of  that  messy  session 
I'd  glance  now  and  then  at  K.  W.  and  wonder 
where  and  how  he  ever  happened  to  meet  up 
with  Valentina.  I  was  meanin'  to  pass  him 
the  word  how  she  was  waitin'  to  see  him;  but 


WITH  ELMER  LEFT  IN  75 

after  he'd  registered  his  big  howl,  and  Old 
Hickory  had  first  smeared  him  and  then  soothed 
him  down,  he  left  so  sudden  that  I  didn't  have 
a  chance. 

Besides,  I  was  some  rushed  myself.  There 
was  a  lot  of  odds  and  ends  to  be  tied  up  after 
the  meetin',  and  two  or  three  of  them  resolu- 
tions that  was  jammed  through  called  for 
quick  action  early  next  day.  That's  what  kept 
me  and  Piddie  and  Mr.  Robert  doin'  so  much 
overtime.  About  six  o'clock  we  had  coffee  and 
sandwiches  sent  in,  and  it  must  have  been  well 
after  seven  before  we  locked  the  big  safes  and 
called  it  a  day.  Piddie  had  already  beat  it  to 
catch  a  late  train  to  Jersey,  so  there  was  only 
the  two  of  us  that  dodged  the  scrubwomen  on 
our  way  down  to  the  street. 

Mr.  Robert  had  a  taxi  waitin'  to  take  him  to 
the  club,  and  I  was  debatin'  whether  I  needed 
a  reg'lar  dinner  or  not,  when  I  gets  a  glimpse 
of  someone  leanin*  patient  against  a  pillar 
opposite  the  main  elevator  exit. 

"Sufferm'  sisters!"  says  I.     "Valentina!" 

"I  beg  pardon?"  says  Mr.  Robert. 

"Say,"  says  I,  "help  me  put  a  smilin'  party 
on  the  track  of  K.  W.  Mason,  will  you?  Here 
she  is." 

I  expect  Mr.  Robert  would  have  ducked  if 
he  could,  after  one  view  of  the  polka-dot  dress 


76  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

and  the  rusty  straw  lid;  but  there  was  Valen- 
tina,  comin'  straight  at  us. 

"For  the  love  of  Mike!'*  says  I.  "You  ain't 
been  waitin'  all  this  time,  have  you?" 

"Right  hea-uh,"  says  she.  "Ah  reckon  Ah 
done  missed  him." 

"Why,"  says  I,  "Mr.  Mason  left  hours  ago. 
Must  be  something  important  you  want  to  see 
him  about,  eh?" 

"Ah  don't  know  as  it  is,"  says  she;  "only 
Ah  promised,  ef  ever  Ah  got  to  Noo  Yawk, 
Ah'd  look  him  up.  He  made  me.  And  Ah  sure 
would  like  to  see  Warrie  mahself." 

"Warrie!"  says  I.  "Oh,  gosh!  Why,  you 
mean  young  Mr.  Mason — Warren,  don't  you!" 

She  nods. 

"Well,  say,  that's  too  bad,"  says  I.  "My 
fault,  though.  But  I  never  thought  of  Warrie 
as  the  one.  Why,  he  hasn't  been  with  the  Cor- 
rugated for  over  a  year  now." 

I  might  have  added  that  we'd  had  hard  work 
missin'  him  at  any  time.  Not  that  he  wasn't 
all  right  in  his  way,  but — well,  it  was  just  a 
case  of  bein'  more  ornamental  than  useful.  A 
bit  thick  in  the  head,  Warrie.  But  it  was  a 
stunnin'  head — reg'lar  Apollonaris  Belvidere. 
He  had  wavy  brown  hair,  and  big,  peaceful 
brown  eyes.  Stood  a  little  over  six  feet  too, 
and  they  say  that  when  it  came  to  ridin'  a 


WITH  ELMEE  LEFT  IN  77 

spotted  pony  and  swingin'  a  polo  mallet  he 
was  all  there.  But  in  the  bond  department  he 
was  just  under  foot. 

So,  when  he  develops  rheumatism  in  one 
shoulder  and  a  specialist  orders  him  South,  it 
wasn't  any  serious  jolt  to  the  business  world. 
And  when  he  finally  shows  up  again  it  didn't 
take  much  urgin'  from  Mr.  Robert  to  induce 
him  to  pass  up  his  financial  career  for  good. 
He  was  engaged  to  be  married  anyway,  and 
that  should  have  been  enough  to  occupy  his 
mind. 

Where  he'd  run  across  Valentina  was  the 
big  puzzle,  and  the  easiest  way  to  solve  it  was 
to  ask  her.  Which  I  does. 

''Why,  at  Sand  Spur  Point,"  says  she. 

"Sounds  cute,"  says  I.    "Is  it  on  the  map?" 

"It's  on  mine,"  says  Valentina. 

"Sand  Spur,  did  you  say?"  puts  in  Mr. 
Robert.  "Isn't  that  the  place  he  discovered 
when  he  was  sent  South  to  bake  out  his  shoul- 
der? Florida,  isn't  it?" 

"West  coast,"  says  Valentina. 

"Of  course,"  says  Mr.  Robert.  "He  talked 
a  lot  about  it.  Seemed  to  have  grown  rather 
fond  of  the  people  there." 

"We  all  thought  a  heap  of  Warrie,"  says 
Miss  Tozier,  lettin'  loose  that  mesmerizin' 
smile  of  hers. 


78  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

Mr.  Robert  gets  the  full  force  of  it,  for  he'd 
been  lookin'  her  over  sort  of  curious;  and 
blamed  if  he  don't  fall  for  it  'most  as  hard  as 
me  and  Vincent. 

"By  George!"  says  he.  "I'm  sure  Warrie 
would  feel  badly  if  he  missed  seeing  anyone 
from  Sand  Spur.  You  must  let  me  know  where 
you're  stopping.  I'll  send  him  word." 

"Wouldn't  do  a  bit  of  good  in  the  world," 
says  Valentina,  "for  Ah'm  not  stopping  any- 
where. You  see,  Ah  come  up  with  pop  on  a 
lumber-schooner,  and  we'll  be  headed  out  past 
Sandy  Hook  by  sunrise." 

"Can't  we  locate  Warrie  to-night  some 
way?"  I  asks. 

Mr.  Robert  shrugs  his  shoulders. 

"We  can,"  says  he.  "I  happen  to  know 
where  he  is  at  this  moment."  Then  he  whis- 
pers, "Dining  at  the  Tarleton;  Miss  Prentice 
is  with  him." 

"Gee!"  says  I. 

Maybe  you've  seen  pictures  of  this  young 
society  queen  that's  annexed  Warrie?  I  had. 
That's  why  I  took  such  a  long  breath  before 
askin',  "Would  you  take  a  chance?" 

"Eh?"  says  Mr.  Robert. 

Then,  as  the  idea  strikes  in,  he  develops  that 
eye  twinkle. 

"Why,"  he  goes  on,  "I  see  no  serious  ob- 


WITH  ELMER  LEFT  IN  79 

jection.  Surely  she  might  spare  him  for  five 
minutes.  Yes,  of  course.  You  may  have  my 
taxi  if  you'll  drop  me  at  the  club  first.  Let's 
do  it." 

So  that's  how  I  come  to  be  interviewin'  a 
chesty  head  waiter  at  the  Tarleton  twenty 
minutes  later.  From  where  I  stood  I  could  see 
Warrie  Mason  well  enough,  but  I  has  to  write 
out  a  message  and  have  it  taken  in.  Him  and 
Miss  Prentice  are  havin'  dinner  all  by  them- 
selves, and  they  sure  make  a  swell-lookin '  pair. 
Warrie  he  looks  classy  in  anything,  but  in 
evenin'  clothes  he's  a  reg'lar  young  grand 
duke;  while  Miss  Prentice — well,  she's  one  of 
these  soft,  pouty-lipped,  droopy-eyed  charm- 
ers, the  kind  you  see  bein'  crushed  against 
some  manly  shirt  bosom  on  the  magazine 
covers.  I  watches  her  nod  careless  as  Warrie 
explains  what's  in  the  note,  and  the  next 
minute  he's  out  givin'  me  the  cordial  hail. 

"What!"  says  he.  "A  friend  from  Sand 
Spur?  By  Jove!  It — it  can't  be  Valentina, 
can  it?" 

"She's  the  one,"  says  I.  "Goin'  back  early 
in  the  mornin'  too,  so  I  didn't  know  but  you 
might  like  to  step  out  and — " 

"Step  out  nothing!"  says  he.  "Bring  her 
in.  There's  only  Gladys,  and  we're  just  start- 
ing dinner.  I  want  you  both  to  join  us." 


80  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

"Wha-a-at?"  I  gasps.  "Lug  Valentina — 
in  there!" 

"Most  certainly,"  says  he. 

"But  see  here,  you  big  boob,"  says  I,  "have 
you  got  any  idea  how  she's  costumed?" 

He  laughs.  "Let's  see,"  he  goes  on, 
"it  ought  to  be  a  dark  blue  print  with  red 
polka  dots.  That  used  to  be  her  Sunday 
dress." 

"You  win,"  says  I.  "The  styles  in  Sand 
Spur  ain't  changed  any.  But  this  is  Fifth 
Avenue,  remember." 

"Torchy,"  says  he,  droppin'  one  of  his  big 
paws  on  my  shoulder,  "what  I  shall  always 
remember  about  Valentina  Tozier  is  this :  that 
when  she  picked  me  up  out  on  the  Gulf  I  was 
in  a  bad  way.  I'd  been  rolling  around  in  a 
rummy  old  motor-boat  for  hours  and  hours, 
with  a  stalled  engine,  and  a  norther  howling 
down  the  coast.  Came  sailing  out  in  a  crazy 
catboat,  Valentina  did,  and  towed  me  in.  She 
knew  nothing  about  who  I  was,  mind  you,  but 
that  made  no  difference  to  her  or  Pop  Tozier. 
From  then  on  there  wasn't  anything  in  Sand 
Spur  too  good  for  me.  And  now — but  where 
is  she?" 

Honest,  in  all  I'd  seen  of  him  at  the  Corru- 
gated, I'd  never  known  Warrie  Mason  to  act 
so  much  like  a  live  one.  There  was  no  stopping 


"FOR  A  SECOND  IT  LOOKED  LIKE  GLADYS  WAS  COIN'  TO 
FREEZE  WITH  HORROR  J  BUT  SHE  JUST  GIVES  VALENTINA 
THE  ONCE-OVER  AND  INDULGES  IN  A  PANICKY  LITTLE 
GIGGLE." 


WITH  ELMEE  LEFT  IN  81 

him.  Before  I  could  register  any  more  pro- 
tests, he'd  hauled  Valentina  out  of  the  cab, 
taken  her  by  the  arm,  and  was  steerin'  her  slam 
into  the  middle  of  the  Tarleton's  Looie  Cans 
dinm'-room.  The  haughty  head  waiter  lets  out 
one  gasp  and  steadies  himself  against  a  marble 
pillar.  As  for  Miss  Prentice,  she  takes  one 
look  at  what  Warrie  is  towin'  in,  and  goes 
pink  in  the  ears.  Then  she  stiffens,  from  the 
jaws  down. 

But  Warrie  don't  seem  to  be  wise  to  the  fact 
that  he's  pullin'  anything  odd.  He  acts  just 
as  natural  as  if  he'd  picked  up  one  of  the 
younger  set. 

"Gladys,"  says  he,  "this  is  Valentina  Tozier, 
that  I've  told  you  so  much  about.  Valentina, 
I  want  you  to  know  Miss  Prentice." 

"Ah!"  says  Gladys,  a  bit  choky  and  archin* 
her  eyebrows  sarcastic.  "I — I  recall  the 
name." 

You'd  'most  thought  Valentina  would  have 
been  fussed  to  flinders  about  then ;  but,  beyond 
actin'  a  little  dazed,  she  don't  show  it.  She 
lets  a  couple  of  French  waiters  peel  off  the 
faded  ulster  and  the  gray  sweater,  and,  believe 
me,  when  the  whole  of  that  polka-dot  costume 
is  revealed  she's  some  conspicuous.  For  a 
second  it  looked  like  Gladys  was  goin'  to  freeze 
with  horror;  but,  after  givin'  Valentina  the 


82  WILT  THOU  TOECHY 

once-over,  she  just  lifts  her  shoulders  a  trifle 
and  indulges  in  a  panicky  little  giggle. 

Of  the  two  of  'em,  I  will  say  that  Valentina 
takes  it  easier,  for  that  dinner  dress  of  Miss 
Prentice's  must  have  jarred  her  some.  But 
Valentina  only  stares  for  a  minute,  and  then 
manages  to  work  up  one  of  them  friendly 
smiles. 

Warrie  don't  get  any  of  this  by-play  at  all. 
Soon  as  he's  through  shootin'  orders  to  the 
waiter,  he  turns  to  Valentina.  "Well,  well!" 
says  he  enthusiastic.  "This  is  a  treat.  Did 
you  come  up  by  train  or  steamer!" 

"Schooner,"  says  Valentina.  "You  know 
all  that  cypress  you  saw  'em  yankin'  out  of  the 
swamp  back  of  the  Point?  Well,  suh,  it's  lum- 
ber now,  every  stick.  Sold,  too.  That's  what 
me  and  pop  came  up  for." 

"You  don't  say!"  says  Warrie.  "How 
much?" 

"Near  nine  thousand,"  says  she. 

"Whe-e-e-ew!"  says  Warrie.  "Now  I  sup- 
pose you'll  be  moving  into  Tampa." 

"No,"  says  Valentina;  "we're  fixin'  to  buy 
another  swamp." 

Then  they  both  laughed,  like  it  was  some 
huge  joke. 

"But  how  is  everyone?"  goes  on  Warrie. 
"Uncle  Jake  still  going  out  after  stone-crabs?" 


WITH  ELMER  LEFT  IN  83 

"Every  morninV'  says  Valentina.  "And 
they;re  runnin'  fine  this  winter,  too.  He  put 
near  a  bushel  on  the  schooner  before  we  sailed. 
We  had  'em  all  the  way  up." 

* '  M-m-m-m ! "  says  Warrie,  smackin'  his 
lips.  "Remember  the  ones  we  roasted  that 
day?" 

"'Deed  I  do,"  says  she.  "You  didn't  want 
to  try  'em  at  first." 

"Wasn't  I  all  kinds  of  a  chump,  though?" 
says  he.  "And  that  first  chicken  pillau  you 
made !  Say ! 

"You  know,"  says  Warrie,  turnin'  to 
Gladys,  "it  was  Valentina  who  actually 
knocked  out  that  rheumatism  of  mine.  Did  it 
with  Green  Springs  water  and  fresh  limes. 
Awful  dose !  But  inside  of  two  weeks  she  had 
me  rowing  a  boat." 

"Really!"  says  Gladys,  smotherin'  a  yawn. 

"Don't  you  believe  him,  Miz  Prentice,"  pro- 
tests Valentina.  "It  was  just  livin'  a  month 
in  Sand  Spur.  That  would  cure  anyone  of 
anything. ' ' 

"Sand  Spur!"  echoes  Gladys.  "It  must  be 
a  wonderful  place." 

Valentina  and  Warrie  swaps  grins. 

"It's  a  dozen  shacks  strung  along  two  snaky 
wagon  ruts  through  the  sand,"  says  Valentina, 
"a  few  pines  and  live-oaks,  a  whole  heap  of 


84  WILT  THOU  TOECHY 

razor-backs,  and  us  Crackers  dodgin'  between. 
That's  Sand  Spur." 

"Oh,  a  little  more  than  that,"  breaks  in 
Warrie.  "You  forget  the  roses  and  the  yellow 
jasmine  climbing  over  the  shacks,  the  Spanish 
moss  festooning  the  oaks,  the  mocking-birds 
singing  from  every  tree-top,  the  black  cypress 
behind  the  pines,  and  out  front  the  jade-green 
Gulf  where  the  sun  goes  down  so  glorious.  You 
forget  the  brilliant  mornings  and  the  wonder- 
ful soft  moonlight  nights." 

Well,  that's  the  way  them  two  went  on,  like 
a  couple  of  kids  talkin'  over  a  summer  vaca- 
tion. I  gathered  that  Warrie  had  simply  quit 
the  sanatorium  where  he'd  been  played  for  a 
good  thing,  and  settled  down  in  Sand  Spur 
with  the  Toziers ;  gettin'  fat  on  the  weird  dishes 
Valentina  could  cook,  and  havin'  the  time  of 
his  life.  Seems  as  if  he'd  made  friends  with 
the  whole  population,  for  he  had  to  ask  about 
all  of  'em  by  their  front  names. 

Listenin'  to  'em  was  sort  of  inter estin'  to 
me,  but  Miss  Prentice  don't  conceal  the  fact 
that  she's  bored  stiff.  Meanwhile  we  was 
wadin'  through  a  first-class  feed.  And  about 
nine  o'clock  Valentina  announces  that  she'll 
have  to  be  gettin'  back  to  the  schooner  or  pop '11 
be  worried.  Warrie  says  he'll  send  her  down 
in  a  cab,  and  asks  me  if  I'll  go  along  to  see  that 


WITH  ELMER  LEFT  IN  85 

she  gets  there  safe,  which  I  says  I  will.  She 
was  bein'  helped  into  the  ulster  when  Warrie 
reme'mbers  someone  else  in  Sand  Spur. 

"Oh,  by  the  way,"  says  he;  "what  about 
Elmer?" 

Valentina  laughs  easy. 

"Oh,  he's  the  same  Elmer,"  says  she.  "He's 
still  foreman  out  at  the  swamp." 

"Comes  over  every  Sunday  night  as  usual, 
eh?"  asks  Warrie. 

She  nods.  "Wednesdays  now,  too,"  says 
she. 

"Then,"  says  Warrie,  "you  and  Elmer  are 
to — er — " 

"Ah  reckon,"  says  Valentina.  "Sometime 
this  spring." 

"Well,  well!"  says  Warrie.  Then,  as  kind 
of  an  afterthought,  he  holds  out  his  hand.  * '  My 
best  wishes  for  you  both,"  says  he. 

"Thanks,"  says  Valentina,  and  gives  him 
about  half  a  smile.  Next  she  glances  towards 
Gladys.  "Say,"  she  goes  on,  "is — is  she  the 
one?" 

"Yes,"  says  Warrie. 

"Same  to  you,"  says  Valentina.  "Good- 
by." 

They  shook  hands  once  more — sort  of  a  long, 
Imgerin'  shake,  with  their  eyes  steady  to  each 
other;  and  then — well,  then  I  steers  Valentina 


86  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

out  past  the  grinnin'  cloak-room  boys  and 
stows  her  in  the  taxi.  She  didn't  have  much 
to  say  on  the  way  down.  Nor  I.  And,  take  it 
from  me,  it's  some  ride  from  the  Tarleton  down 
to  Pier  9,  East  River. 

First  thing  next  mornin',  Mr.  Robert  wants 
to  know  how  the  reunion  passed  off,  and  he 
listens  bug-eyed  as  I  describes  the  way  we  rung 
in  on  the  dinner-party  with  Gladys. 

"The  deuce  you  did!"  says  he.  "Just  like 
Warrie  to  do  that,  though.  But,  if  I  know 
Miss  Prentice  at  all,  she  will  pay  him  back  for 
that  little  prank." 

"Now  you've  said  something!"  says  I. 

"And  Valentina,"  he  adds  reflectively,  "is 
on  her  way  back  to  Sand  Spur,  is  she?" 

"I  expect  that's  where  she  belongs,"  says 
I;  "and  yet—" 

"Well,  yet  what?"  demands  Mr.  Robert, 
sort  of  quizzin'. 

"I  was  only  thinkin',"  says  I,  "that  if  the 
cards  could  have  been  shuffled  different,  with 
Gladys  startin'  in  Sand  Spur  and  Valentina 
on  the  Avenue,  Warrie  might  not  have  so  many 
yawns  comin'  to  him  across  the  dinner- table. 
But  then,  maybe  Elmer  of  the  Swamp  deserves 
some  lucky  breaks.  Who  knows?" 


CHAPTER  VI 

A    BALANCE    FOE    THE    BOSS 

You  see,  I  was  openin'  the  mornin'  mail. 
Hope  you  get  that  part.  Not  that  I  want  to 
seem  chesty  over  it.  Just  goes  to  show,  that's 
all.  For,  of  the  whole  force  here  at  the  General 
offices,  there's  just  three  of  us  can  carve  up 
the  mornin'  mail  without  gettin'  fired  for  it. 
And  the  other  two  are  Old  Hickory  and  Mr. 
Eobert. 

H-m-m-m!  Business  of  lookin'  important. 
That's  what  it  is  to  be  a  private  sec.  But, 
between  you  and  me,  this  slicin'  and  sortin' 
envelopes  ain't  such  thrillin'  work;  mostly 
routine  stuff — reports  of  department  heads, 
daily  statements  from  brokers,  and  so  on. 
Now  and  then,  though,  you  run  across  some- 
thing rich.  This  was  one  of  the  times. 

I  was  'most  through  the  pile  when  I  comes 
to  this  pale  pink  affair  with  a  heavy  wax  seal 
on  the  back.  Perfumed,  too,  like  lilacs.  First 
off  I  thought  it  must  be  private,  and  I  held 
the  letter  stabber  in  the  air  while  I  took  a  closer 
look.  No.  It's  addressed  just  to  the  Corru- 

87 


88  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

gated  Trust.  So  rip  she  goes.  After  I'd  read 
it  through  twice  I  grins  and  puts  it  one  side. 
When  Mr.  Robert  blows  in  I  hands  the  pink 
one  to  him  first. 

"We're  discovered,"  says  I.  "Here's  some- 
one that  hints  polite  how  we're  a  bunch  of 
strong-arms  organized  to  rob  the  widow  and 
orphan  of  their  daily  bread." 

Mr.  Robert  takes  one  sniff,  then  holds  it  at 
arm's  length  while  he  runs  it  through.  Gets 
a  chuckle  out  of  him,  too. 

"It's  rather  evident,"  says  he,  "that  Mrs. 
Theodore  Bayly  Bagstock  doesn't  approve  of 
us  at  all — though  just  why  is  not  quite  clear." 

"That's  easy,"  says  I.  "This  Inter-Lake 
Navigation  that  she's  beefin'  about  was  one  of 
them  little  concerns  we  gathered  in  last  fall. 
Paid  something  like  fourteen,  and  our  common 
at  three  and  a  half  don't  seem  so  good  to  her, 
I  expect.  Still,  she  got  a  double  on  her  holdin's 
by  the  deal,  and  with  the  melon  we're  goin'  to 
cut  next  month — " 

"Suppose,  Torchy,"  breaks  in  Mr.  Robert, 
tossing  back  the  letter,  "you  answer  the  lady 
in  your  own  direct  and  lucid  way.  You  might 
suggest  that  we  are  neither  highwaymen  nor 
the  Associated  Charities,  using  any  little  whim 
of  sarcasm  that  occurs  to  you." 

I'd  just  thought  out  a  real  snappy  come-back 


A  BALANCE  FOE  THE  BOSS       89 

too,  and  was  dictatin'  it  to  a  stenographer, 
when  Old  Hickory  happens  to  drift  by  with  his 
ear  out.  He  stops  short. 

"Hold  on,"  says  he.  "What  Mrs.  Bagstock 
is  that!" 

"Why,  the  peevish  one,  I  expect,  sir,"  says 
I. 

"Let's  see  that  letter,"  says  he. 

I  passes  it  over. 

"Huh!"  he  goes  on,  rubbin'  his  chin  reminis- 
cent. "I  wonder  if  that  could  be — er — young 
man,  I  think  I'll  answer  this  myself." 

"Oh,  very  well,  sir,"  says  I,  shruggin'  my 
shoulders  careless. 

Must  have  been  half  an  hour  later  when  Old 
Hickory  calls  me  into  the  private  office,  and  I 
finds  him  still  gazin'  at  the  scented  note. 

"Torchy,"  says  he,  glancin'  keen  at  me  from 
under  his  bushy  eyebrows,  "this  Mrs.  Bag- 
stock  seems  to  think  we  are  using  her  badly. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  those  Inter-Lake  share- 
holders were  lucky.  We  might  have  frozen 
them  out  altogether.  You  understand,  eh?" 

I  nods. 

"But  I  can't  put  that  in  a  letter,"  he  goes 
on.  "It  could  be  explained  in  a  personal  inter- 
view, however." 

"I  get  you,"  says  I.  "I'll  'phone  for  her  to 
come  around." 


90  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

"No!"  he  roars.  "You'll  do  nothing  of  the 
sort.  "What  the  rhythmic  rhomboids  put  that 
into  your  head?  I  don't  want  to  see  the  woman. 
I'll  not  see  her,  not  on  any  pretext.  Under- 
stand?" 

"I  think  so,"  says  I. 

"Then  get  your  hat,"  says  he. 

"Yes,  sir,"  says  I,  edgin'  out. 

"Just  a  moment,"  says  Old  Hickory.  "You 
are  to  explain  to  Mrs.  Bagstock  fully:  assure 
her  that  in  the  long  run  she  will  not  be  the 
loser,  and  so  on.  As  courteously  as  you  know 
how.  And — er — if  in  the  course  of  the  inter- 
view you  should  happen  to  learn  her  given 
name — er — just  remember  it." 

"Such  as  Ella  May  or  Josephine?" 

"No!"  he  snaps.    "Natalie.    Now  clear  out. " 

Ain't  he  the  foxy  old  pirate,  though?  Send- 
in'  me  off  on  a  sleuthm'  expedition  without 
givin'  up  a  hint  as  to  what  it's  all  about !  Was 
it  some  back-number  romance  that  this  lilac- 
dipped  note  had  reminded  him  of?  More 
likely  there 'd  been  some  Bagstock  or  other 
who'd  double-crossed  him  in  a  deal  and  he'd 
never  found  a  chance  to  get  square.  Anyway, 
he's  after  a  confidential  report,  so  off  I  pikes. 

My  troubles  began  right  at  the  start.  I  had 
to  hunt  the  address  up  on  a  city  map,  and  when 
I'd  located  it  on  the  lower  West  Side,  down  in 


A  BALANCE  FOE  THE  BOSS        91 

the  warehouse  district,  I'm  sure  of  one  thing 
— this  Mrs.  Bagstock  can't  be  such-a-much.  If 
I  had  any  doubts  they  was  knocked  out  by  the 
sign  hung  alongside  the  front  door — 
" Furnished  Rooms." 

I  expect  it  had  been  quite  a  decent  old  house 
in  its  day — one  of  these  full-width  brick  affairs, 
with  fancy  iron  grill-work  on  either  side  of  the 
brownstone  steps  and  a  fan-light  over  the  door. 
There  was  even  an  old-fashioned  bell-pull  that 
was  almost  equal  to  a  wall  exerciser  for  workin' 
up  your  muscle.     I  was   still  pumpin'  away 
energetic,  not  hearin'  any  results  inside,  when 
the  door  is  jerked  open,  and  a  perky  young 
female  with  the  upper  part  of  her  face  framed 
in  kid   curlers   and   a   baby-blue   boudoir   cap 
glares  at  me  unpleasant. 

II  Humph!"    says    she.      "Tryin'    to    play 
'Rag-Time  Temple  Bells/  are  you!" 

"Then  I  did  register  a  tinkle,  did  If"  says 
I. 

"Tinkle!  More  like  a  riot  call,"  says  she. 
"Want  to  look  at  rooms?" 

"Not  exactly,"  says  I.  "Yon  see,  I'm  rep- 
resentin' — " 

"Are  you?"  she  crashes  in  crisp.  "Well, 
say,  you  fresh  agents  are  goin'  to  overwork 
this  comedy  cut-up  act  with  our  bell  one  of 
these  times.  Go  on.  Shoot  it.  What  you  want 


92  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

to  wish  on  us — instalment  player-piano,  electric 
dish-washer,  magazine  subscriptions,  or— 

"Excuse  me,"  I  cuts  in,  producin'  the  letter; 
"but,  while  you're  a  grand  little  guesser,  your 
start  is  all  wrong.  I  came  to  see  Mrs.  Bag- 
stock  about  this.  Lives  here,  don't  she?" 

"Oh,  Auntie!"  says  the  young  party  in  the 
boudoir  cap.  "Then  I  guess  you  can  come  in. 
Now,  lemme  see.  What's  this  all  about! 
H-m-m-m!  Stocks,  eh?  Just  a  jiffy  while  I 
go  through  this." 

Durin'  which  I've  been  shooed  into  the  par- 
lor. Some  parlor  it  is,  too.  I  don't  know  when 
I've  seen  a  room  that  came  so  near  whinin' 
about  better  days  gone  by.  Every  piece  of 
furniture,  from  the  threadbare  sofa  to  the 
rickety  center  table,  seems  kind  of  sad  and 
sobby. 

Nothing  old-timey  about  this  young  female 
that's  studyin'  out  Mrs.  Bagstock's  letter. 
Barrin'  the  floppy  cap,  she's  costumed  zippy 
enough  in  what  I  should  judge  was  a  last  fall's 
tango  dress.  As  she  reads  she  yanks  gum 
industrious. 

"Say,"  she  breaks  out,  "this  is  all  Dutch  to 
me.  Who's  bein'  called  down,  anyway!" 

"We  are,"  says  I.  "The  Corrugated  Trust. 
I'm  private  sec.  there.  I've  come  around  to 
show  Mrs.  Bagstock  where  she's  sized  us  up 


A  BALANCE  FOE  THE  BOSS        93 

wrong,  and  if  I  could  have  five  minutes'  talk 
with  her — " 

"Well,  you  can't,  that's  all,"  says  the  young 
lady.  "So  speed  up  and  tell  it  to  me." 

Course,  I  wasn't  doin'  that.  We  holds  quite 
a  debate  on  the  subject  without  my  scorin'  any 
points  at  all.  She  tells  me  how  she's  a  niece 
by  marriage  of  Mrs.  Bagstock,  and  the  un- 
regrettin'  widow  of  the  late  Dick  McCloud, 
who  up  to  a  year  ago  was  the  only  survivin' 
relative  of  his  dear  aunt. 

"And  he  wasn't  much  good  at  that,  if  I  do 
say  it,"  announces  Tessie,  snappin'  her  black 
eyes.  "I  don't  deny  he  had  me  buffaloed  for 
a  while  there,  throwin'  the  bull  about  his  rich 
aunt  that  was  goin'  to  leave  him  a  fortune. 
Huh!  This  is  the  fortune — this  old  furnished- 
room  joint  that's  mortgaged  up  to  the  eaves 
and  ain't  had  a  roomer  in  three  months.  Hot 
fortune,  ain't  it?  And  here  I  am  stranded  with 
a  batty  old  dame,  two  blocks  below  Chris- 
topher. ' ' 

"Waitin*  to  inherit?"  I  asks  innocent. 

"Why  not?"  says  Tessie.  "I  stood  for  Dick 
McCloud  'most  three  years.  That  ought  to 
call  for  some  pension,  hadn't  it?  I  don't  mind 
sayin',  too,  it  ain't  one  long  May-day  festival, 
this  bein'  buried  alive  with  Aunt  Nutty." 

"Meanin'  Mrs.  Bagstock?"  says  I. 


94  WILT  THOU  TOECHY 

She  nods.  "One  of  Dick's  little  cracks," 
says  she.  "Her  real  name  is  Natalie." 

I  expect  my  ears  did  a  reg'lar  rabbit  motion 
at  that.  So  this  was  the  one?  Well,  I'd  got 
to  have  a  look  at  her! 

"Eh?"  says  I.    "Did  you  say  Natalie?" 

"Aunt  Nutty 's  a  better  fit,  though,"  says 
Tessie. 

"Ah,  come!"  says  I.  "She  don't  write  so 
batty.  And  anybody  who  can  notice  the  differ- 
ence between  fourteen  per  cent,  dividends  and 
three  and  a  half  ain't  so  far  gone." 

"Oh,  you  never  could  work  off  any  wooden 
money  on  her,"  admits  Tessie.  "Her  grip  on 
a  dollar  is  sump'n  fierce;  that  is,  until  it  comes 
to  settin'  the  stage  for  one  of  her  third 
Wednesdays." 

"Her  which?"  says  I. 

"If  it  was  anything  I  could  cover  up,"  says 
Tessie,  "you  bet  I'd  deny  it.  But  anybody  on 
the  block  could  put  you  wise.  So,  if  you  must 
know,  every  third  Wednesday  Aunt  Nutty  goes 
through  the  motions  of  pullin'  off  a  pink  tea. 
Un-huh!  It's  all  complete:  the  big  silver  urn 
polished  up  and  steamin',  sandwiches  and  cakes 
made,  flowers  about,  us  all  dolled  up — and  no- 
body to  it!  Oh,  it's  a  scream!" 

"But  don't  anyone  come?"  says  I. 

"Hardly,"  says  Tessie,  "unless  you  count 


A  BALANCE  FOE  THE  BOSS        95 

Mrs*  Fizzenmeyer,  the  delicatessen  lady;  or 
Madame  Tebeau,  the  little  hairdresser;  or  the 
Schmitt  girls,  from  the  corner  bakery.  They 
pretend  to  take  Auntie  almost  as  serious  as 
she  takes  herself.  Lately,  though,  even  that 
bunch  has  stopped.  You  can't  blame  'em.  It 
may  be  funny  for  once  or  twice.  After  that — 
well,  it  begins  to  get  ghastly.  Specially  with 
the  old  girl  askin'  me  continual  to  watch  out 
the  window  and  see  if  the  Van  Pyles  haven't 
driven  up  yet,  or  the  Eollinses,  or  the  Pitt- 
Smiths.  If  that  ain't  nutty,  now  what  is?" 

"The  third  Wednesday,  eh?"  says  I. 
"That's  to-morrow,  ain't  it?" 

"Sure,"  says  Tessie.  "Which  is  why  you 
can't  see  her  to-day.  She's  in  trainin'  for  the 
big  event — y  'understand  ? ' ' 

"But  I'd  like  to  set  her  mind  easy  on  this 
stock  proposition,"  says  I. 

"Wish  you  could,"  says  Tessie.  "She's 
been  stewin'  a  lot  over  something  or  other. 
Must  be  that.  And  I  could  take  you  up  to  her 
if  you  was  on  the  list." 

"What  list?"  I  asks. 

"Her  doctor,  her  solicitor,  her  banker," 
says  Tessie,  checkin'  'em  off  on  her  fingers. 

"Say,"  says  I,  "couldn't  I  ring  in  as  one 
of  her  bankers?  Then  I  could  get  this  off  my 
chest  and  not  have  to  come  again." 


96  WILT  THOU  TOECHY 

"I'll  put  it  up  to  her,"  says  Tessie.  "Got 
a  business  card  on  you?" 

I  had,  an  engraved  one.  Maybe  that's  what 
did  the  trick,  for  Tessie  comes  back  smilin'. 

"But  it'll  take  me  half  an  hour  or  so  to  fix 
her  up,"  says  she.  "She's  dreadful  fussy 
about  her  looks." 

"I  got  all  day,"  says  I. 

But  at  that  it  seemed  like  I'd  been  shut  up 
in  that  sobby  parlor  for  a  month  when  Tessie 
finally  gives  me  the  word.  "Come  along," 
says  she.  "And  don't  forget  to  make  a  noise 
like  a  banker." 

Say,  after  I'd  been  led  up  to  this  faded  old 
relic  that's  bolstered  with  pillows  in  the  arm- 
chair by  the  window,  and  listened  to  her 
wavery,  cracked  voice,  I  couldn't  see  anything 
funny  in  it  at  all. 

It's  a  vague,  batty  sort  of  talk  we  had. 
Mostly  it's  a  monologue  by  her. 

"I  am  quite  annoyed,"  says  she,  tappin'  the 
chair  arm  with  her  thin,  blue-white  finger-nails. 
"My  income,  you  know.  It  must  not  be  re- 
duced in  this  way.  You  must  attend  to  it  at 
once.  Those  Inter-Lake  securities.  I've  de- 
pended on  those.  Mr.  Bagstock  gave  them  to 
me  on  our  fifth  wedding  anniversary.  Of 
course,  I  am  not  a  business  woman.  One  can't 
neglect  one 's  social  career.  But  I  have  always 


A  BALANCE  FOR  THE  BOSS        97 

tried  to  look  after  my  own  securities.  My 
father  taught  me  to  do  that  when  I  was  a  mere 
girl.  So  I  wrote  about  my  Inter-Lake  Naviga- 
tion shares.  Why  should  your  firm  interfere? 
You  say  in  a  few  months  they  will  pay  as  well. 
But  meanwhile!  You  see,  there  are  my  Wednes- 
days. I  can't  give  them  up.  What  would 
people  say?  For  years  that  has  been  my  day. 
No,  no,  young  man ;  you  must  find  a  way.  Tell 
your  firm  that  I  simply  must  keep  up  my 
Wednesdays." 

And,  as  she  stops  for  breath,  it's  about  the 
first  chance  I've  had  to  spring  anything  on 
her.  Old  Hickory  hadn't  told  me  not  to  use 
his  name,  and  was  I  to  blame  if  he'd  over- 
looked that  point? 

"Yes'm,"  says  I;  "I'll  tell  Mr.  Ellins." 

"Who?"  says  she,  steadyin'  her  wanderin' 
gaze.  "Mr.  Ellins?" 

"Old  Hickory,"  says  I.  "He's  president  of 
the  Corrugated  Trust,  ma'am." 

"Really!"  says  she.  "How  odd!  I — I  used 
,to  know  a  young  man  of  that  name — a  pushing, 
presuming,  impudent  fellow.  In  fact,  he  had 
the  audacity  to  call  on  me  several  times.  He 
was  quite  impossible  socially;  uncouth,  awk- 
ward, rough  spoken.  A  mere  clerk,  I  believe. 
And  I — well,  I  was  rather  a  belle  that  season, 
I  suppose.  At  least,  I  did  not  lack  suitors.  A 


98  WILT  THOU  TOECHY 

brilliant  season  it  was  for  me  too,  my  first.  Our 
dinners,  receptions,  dances,  were  affairs  of 
importance.  How  this  raw  Middle-Westerner 
came  to  be  invited  I've  forgotten.  Through 
my  father,  I  presume.  I  had  hardly  noticed  him 
among  so  many.  At  least,  I  am  sure  I  never 
gave  him  an  excuse  for  thinking  that  he 
could —  Oh,  it  was  outrageous.  I  had  been 
trying  to  dance  with  him  and  had  given  it  up. 
We  were  in  the  little  conservatory,  watching 
the  others,  when — well,  I  found  myself  in  his 
arms,  crushed  there.  He — he  was  kissing  me 
violently.  I  suppose  I  must  have  screamed 
before  I  fainted.  Anyway,  there  was  a  scene. 
He  was  given  his  hat  and  coat,  shown  the  door. 
Father  was  in  a  rage.  Of  course,  after  that 
he  was  ostracized.  I  never  saw  him  again, 
never  forgave  him.  And  now —  Do  you  think 
this  can  be  the  same  Mr.  Ellins?  He  sent  you 
to  me,  did  he  not?  Did  he  mention  anything 
about — " 

' ' Not  a  word  except  business,"  says  I.  "And 
I  must  say  that  performance  don't  sound  much 
like  the  boss." 

"Ah!"  says  the  old  girl,  sighin'  relieved. 
"I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so.  I  should  not 
care  to  have  any  dealings  with  him." 

She  was  back  in  the  '70 's  again,  tryin'  to 
look  haughty  and  indignant.  Next  minute  she 


A  BALANCE  FOE  THE  BOSS        99 

was  protestin'  about  her  income  and  announcin* 
that  she  must  keep  up  her  Wednesdays. 

' '  Yes  'm,  "says  I,  backin '  out ;  "  I  '11  tell  him. ' ' 

"Well?"  says  Tessie,  as  we  gets  back  to  the 
parlor.  "Ain't  that  some  bug-house  proposi- 
tion? Got  an  ear-full,  didn't  you?  And  to- 
morrow we'll—  There's  that  fool  bell  again. 
Oh,  it's  the  doctor.  I'll  have  to  take  him  up. 
So  long." 

She  let  the  young  doctor  in  as  she  let  me 
out.  I  was  half  way  down  the  block,  too,  when 
I  turns  and  walks  back.  I  waits  in  the  tin 
runabout  until  the  pill  distributer  comes  out. 

"What  about  the  old  lady  in  there?"  says 
I.  "Kind  of  wabbly,  ain't  she?" 

"Oh,  she  may  last  a  month  more,"  says 
he.  "Wonderful  vitality.  And  then  again 
— oh,  any  time;  like  that!"  and  he  snaps  his 
fingers. 

Maybe  I  didn't  have  some  details  to  give 
Old  Hickory. 

"It's  a  case  of  better  days,"  says  I.  "Must 
have  been  some  society  queen  and  she's  never 
got  over  the  habit.  Still  playin'  the  game." 

Then  I  describes  the  guestless  teas  she  has. 
But  never  a  smile  out  of  Old  Hickory.  He 
listens  grim  without  interruptin'. 

"But  what  about  her  first  name?"  he  asks 
at  last. 


100  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

*  *  Oh,  sure, ' '  says  I.  ' '  Didn  't  I  mention  that  ? 
Natalie.  And  I  expect  she  was  some  stunner. 
She's  near  the  finish  now,  though.  Shouldn't 
wonder  but  to-morrow  might  be  her  last  third 
Wednesday. ' ' 

"Who  says  so?"  demands  Mr.  Ellins  savage. 

"Her  doctor,"  says  I. 

With  that,  Old  Hickory  bangs  his  fist  on  the 
desk. 

"Then,  by  the  Lord  Harry,"  says  he,  I'd  like 
to  make  it  a  good  one." 

"Eh?"  says  I,  gawpin*. 

"Young  man,"  says  he,  "I  don't  know 
whether  you  have  had  fool  luck  or  have  been 
particularly  clever,  but  thus  far  you  have 
handled  this  affair  for  me  like  a  diplomat.  Now 
I'm  going  to  ask  you  to  do  something  more. 
I  don't  care  to  hear  another  word  about 
Mrs.  Bagstock,  not  a  whisper,  but — er — here's 
a  check  for  two  hundred  dollars.  No,  I'll  make 
it  five.  Just  take  that  and  see  that  her  silly 
tea  to-morrow  is  a  bang-up  affair,  with  plenty 
of  real  guests." 

I  gasps. 

"But,  I  say,  Mr.  Ellins,"  I  begins,  "how  do 
I—" 

"Don't  ask  me  how,  young  man,"  he  snaps. 
"What  do  I  know  about  tea-parties?  Do  as  I 
tell  you." 


A  BALANCE  FOB  THE  BOSS      101 

Say,  that's  some  unique  order  to  shoot  at 
a  private  sec.,  ain't  it? 

And  did  I  make  good"?  Listen.  Before  nine 
o'clock  that  night  I  had  the  thing  all  plotted 
out  and  half  a  dozen  people  gettin'  busy. 
Course,  it's  mostly  Vee's  program.  She  claps 
her  hands  when  she  hears  the  tale. 

"Why,  Torchy!"  says  she.  "Isn't  that  just 
splendid!  Certainly  we  can  do  it.'* 

And  when  Vee  gets  enthusiastic  over  any- 
thing it  ain't  any  flash  in  the  pan.  It's  apt  to 
be  done,  and  done  right.  She  tells  me  what  to 
do  right  off  the  reel.  And  you  should  have 
seen  me  blowin'  that  five  hundred  like  a  drunken 
sailor.  I  charters  a  five-piece  orchestra,  gives 
a  rush  order  to  a  decorator,  and  engages  a 
swell  caterer,  warnin'  Tessie  by  wire  what  to 
expect.  Vee  tackled  the  telephone  work,  and 
with  her  aunt's  help  dug  up  about  a  dozen  old 
families  that  remembered  the  Bagstocks. 
How  they  hypnotized  so  many  old  dames 
to  take  a  trip  'way  downtown  I  don't  know; 
but  after  Mrs.  Tessie  McCloud  had  watched  the 
fourth  limousine  unload  from  two  to  three 
classy-lookin'  guests,  she  near  swallowed  her 
gum. 

"Muh  Gawd!"  says  she.  "Am  I  seein' 
things,  or  is  it  true?" 

Not  only  dames,  but  a  sprinklin'  of  old  sports 


102  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

in  spats  and  frock-coats  and  with  waxed  white 
mustaches  was  rounded  up;  and,  with  five  or 
six  debutantes  Vee  had  got  hold  of,  it's  some 
crusty  push. 

First  off  Mrs.  Bagstock  had  been  so  limp 
and  unsteady  on  her  pins  that  she'd  started  in 
by  receivin'  'em  propped  up  in  a  big  chair. 
But  by  the  time  the  old  parlor  got  half  full 
and  the  society  chatter  cuts  loose  she  seems 
to  buck  up  a  lot. 

Next  thing  I  knew,  she  was  standin'  as 
straight  as  a  Fifth  Avenue  doorman,  her 
wrinkled  old  chin  well  up  and  her  eyes  shinin'. 
Honest,  she  was  just  eatin'  it  up.  Looked  the 
part,  too.  A  bit  out  of  date  as  to  costume, 
maybe;  but  with  her  white  hair  piled  up  high 
and  the  diamond-set  combs  in  it,  and  a  cameo 
as  big  as  a  door-knob  at  her  throat,  and  with 
that  grand-duchess  air  of  hers,  hanged  if  she 
don't  carry  it  off  great.  Why,  I  heard  her 
gossipin'  with  old  Madam  Van  Pyle  as  chummy 
and  easy  as  if  it  had  been  only  last  week  since 
they'd  seen  each  other,  instead  of  near  twenty 
years  ago. 

Havin'  to  pay  off  some  of  the  help,  I  had  to 
stick  around  until  it  was  all  over.  So  I  was 
there  when  she  staggers  towards  Tessie  and 
leans  heavy  on  her  shoulder. 

" They— they've  all  gone,  haven't  they?"  she 


A  BALANCE  FOE  THE  BOSS      103 

asks.  "I — I'm  so  tired  and — and  so  happy! 
It  has  been  the  most  successful  Wednesday  I've 
had  for  some  time,  hasn't  it?" 

"Has  it?"  says  Tessie.  "Why,  Auntie,  this 
was  a  knockout,  one  of  the  kind  you  read  about. 
Honest,  even  when  I  was  fittin'  corsets  for  the 
carriage  trade,  I  never  got  so  close  to  such 
a  spiffy  bunch.  But  we  had  the  goods  to  hand 
'em — caviar  sandwiches,  rum  for  the  tea,  fizz 
in  the  punch.  Believe  me,  the  Astors  ain't  got 
anything  on  us  now." 

Mrs.  Bagstock  don't  seem  to  be  listenin'. 
She's  just  gazin'  around  smilin'  vague. 

"Music,  wasn't  there?"  she  goes  on.  "I 
had  really  forgotten  having  ordered  an  orches- 
tra. And  such  lovely  roses !  Let  me  take  one 
more  look  at  the  dear  old  drawing-room.  Yes, 
it  was  a  success,  I'm  sure.  Now  you  may  ring 
for  my  maid.  I — I  think  I  will  retire." 

As  they  brushed  past  me  on  their  way  to  the 
stairs  I  took  a  chance  on  whisperin'  to  Tessie. 

"Hadn't  you  better  ring  up  the  doc.?"  I 
suggests. 

"Maybe  I  had,"  says  she. 

Perhaps  she  did,  too.  I  expect  it  didn't 
matter  much.  Only  I  was  peeved  at  that  boob 
society  editor,  after  all  the  trouble  I  took  to 
get  the  story  shaped  up  by  one  of  my  news- 
paper friends  and  handed  in  early,  to  have  it 


104  WILT  THOU  TOECHY 

held  over  for  the  Sunday  edition.  That's  how 
it  happens  the  paper  I  takes  in  to  Mr.  Ellins 
Monday  mornin'  has  these  two  items  on  the 
same  page — I'd  marked  'em  both.  One  was  a 
flossy  account  of  Mrs.  Theodore  Bayly  Bag- 
stock's  third  Wednesday;  the  other  was  six 
lines  in  the  obituary  column.  Old  Hickory 
reads  'em,  and  then  sits  for  a  minute,  gazin' 
over  the  top  of  his  desk  at  nothing  at  alL 

' '  Poor  Natalie ! ' '  says  he,  after  a  while.  ' '  So 
that  was  her  last." 

" Nobody  ever  finished  any  happier,  though," 
says  I. 

"Hah!"  says  he.  "Then  perhaps  that  bal- 
ances the  account." 

Saying  which,  he  clips  the  end  off  of  a  fat 
black  perfecto,  lights  up,  and  tackles  the 
mornin'  mail. 


CHAPTER  VH 

TORCHY  FOLLOWS  A    HUNCH 

IT  was  a  case  of  local  thunderstorms  on  the 
seventeenth  floor  of  the  Corrugated  Trust 
Building.  To  state  it  simpler,  Old  Hickory 
was  runnin'  a  neck  temperature  of  210  or  so, 
and  there  was  no  tellin'  what  minute  he  might 
fuse  a  collar-button  or  blow  out  a  cylinder-head. 

The  trouble  seemed  to  be  that  one  of  his  pet 
schemes  was  in  danger  of  being  ditched.  Some 
kind  of  an  electric  power  distributin'  stunt  it 
is,  one  that  he'd  doped  out  durin'  a  Western 
trip  last  summer;  just  a  little  by-play  with  a 
few  hundred  square  miles  of  real  estate,  in- 
cludin'  the  buildin'  of  twenty  or  thirty  miles 
of  trolley  and  plantin'  a  few  factories  here  and 
there. 

But  now  here's  Ballinger,  our  Western 
manager,  in  on  the  carpet,  tryin'  to  explain 
why  it  can't  be  done.  He's  been  at  it  for  two 
hours,  helped  out  by  a  big  consultin'  engineer 
and  the  chief  attorney  of  our  Chicago  branch. 
They've  waved  blue-print  maps,  submitted  re- 
ports of  experts,  and  put  in  all  kinds  of  evi- 

105 


106  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

dence  to  show  that  the  scheme  has  either  got 
to  be  revised  radical  or  else  chucked. 

"Very  sorry,  Mr.  Ellins,"  says  Ballinger, 
''but  we  have  done  our  best." 

"Bah!"  snaps  Old  Hickory.  "It's  all  waste 
land,  isn't  it?  Of  course  he'll  sell.  Who  is  he, 
anyway?" 

"His  name,"  says  Ballinger,  pawin'  over 
some  letters,  "is  T.  Waldo  Pettigrew.  Lives 
in  New  York,  I  believe ;  at  least,  his  attorneys 
are  here.  And  this  is  all  we  have  been  able 
to  get  out  of  them — a  flat  no."  And  he  slides 
an  envelope  across  the  mahogany  table. 

"But  what's  his  reason?"  demands  Old 
Hickory.  "Why?  That's  what  I  want  to 
know." 

Ballinger  shrugs  his  shoulders.  "I  don't 
pretend,"  says  he,  "to  understand  the  average 
New  Yorker." 

"Hah!"  snorts  Mr.  Ellins.  "Once  more 
that  old  alibi  of  the  limber- spined ;  that  hoary 
fiction  of  the  ten-cent  magazine  and  the  two- 
dollar  drama.  Average  New  Yorker !  Listen, 
Ballinger.  There's  no  such  thing.  We're  just 
as  different,  and  just  as  much  alike,  as  anybody 
else.  In  other  words,  we're  human.  And  this 
Pettigrew  person  you  seem  to  think  such  a 
mysterious  and  peculiar  individual — well,  what 
about  him?  Who  and  what  is  he?" 


TOECHY  FOLLOWS  A  HUNCH    107 

11  According  to  the  deeds,"  says  Ballinger, 
"he  is  the  son  of  Thomas  J.  and  Mary  Ann 
Pettigrew,  both  deceased.  His  attorneys  are 
Mott,  Drew  &  Mott.  They  write  that  their 
client  absolutely  refuses  to  sell  any  land  any- 
where. They  have  written  that  three  times. 
They  have  declined  to  discuss  any  proposition. 
And  there  you  are." 

"You  mean,"  sneers  Old  Hickory,  "that 
there  you  are." 

"If  you  can  suggest  anything  further,"  be- 
gins Ballinger,  "we  shall  be  glad  to — " 

"I  know,"  breaks  in  Old  Hickory,  "you'd 
be  glad  to  fritter  away  another  six  months  and 
let  those  International  Power  people  jump  in 
ahead  of  us.  No,  thanks.  I  mean  to  see  if  I 
can't  get  a  little  action  now.  Robert,  who  have 
we  out  there  in  the  office  who's  not  especially 
busy?  Oh,  yes,  Torchy.  I  say,  young  man! 
You— Torchy!" 

"Calling  me,  sir?"  says  I,  slidin'  out  of  my 
chair  and  into  the  next  room  prompt. 

Old  Hickory  nods. 

"Find  that  man  Pettigrew,"  says  he,  tossin' 
over  the  letter.  "He  owns  some  land  we  need. 
There's  a  map  of  it,  also  a  memorandum  of 
what  we're  willing  to  pay.  Report  to-morrow." 

"Yes,  sir,"  says  I.  "Want  me  to  close  the 
deal  by  noon?" 


108  WILT  THOU  TOECHY 

Maybe  they  didn't  catch  the  flicker  under 
them  bushy  eyebrows.  But  I  did,  and  I  knew 
he  was  goin'  to  back  my  bluff. 

1  'Any  time  before  five  will  do,"  says  he. 
"Wait!  You'd  better  take  a  check  with  you." 

If  we  was  lookin'  to  get  any  gasps  out  of 
that  bunch,  we  had  another  guess  comin'.  They 
knew  Old  Hickory's  fondness  for  tradin'  on 
his  reputation,  and  that  he  didn't  always  pull 
it  off.  The  engineer  humps  his  eyebrows  sar- 
castic, while  Ballinger  and  the  lawyer  swaps 
a  quiet  smile. 

"Then  perhaps  we  had  best  stay  over  and 
take  the  deeds  back  with  us,"  says  Ballinger. 

"Do,"  snaps  Old  Hickory.  "You  can  im- 
prove the  time  hunting  for  your  average  New 
Yorker.  Here  you  are,  Torchy." 

Say,  he's  a  game  old  sport,  Mr.  Ellins.  He 
plays  a  hundred-to-one  shot  like  he  was  puttin' 
money  on  a  favorite.  And  he  waves  me  on  my 
way  with  never  a  wink  of  them  keen  eyes. 

"Gee!"  thinks  I.  "Billed  for  a  masked 
marvel  act,  ain't  I?  Well,  that  bein'  the  case, 
this  is  where  I  get  next  to  Pettigrew  or  tear 
something  loose." 

Didn't  need  any  seventh-son  work  to  locate 
him.  The  'phone  book  shows  he  lives  on  Madi- 
son Avenue.  Seemed  simple  enough.  But  this 
was  no  time  to  risk  bein'  barred  out  by  a 


TORCHY  FOLLOWS  A  HUNCH  109 

cold-eyed  butler.  You  can't  breeze  into  them 
old  Tbrownstone  fronts  on  your  nerve.  What 
I  needed  was  credentials.  The  last  place 
I'd  be  likely  to  get  'em  would  be  Mott, 
Drew  &  Mott's,  so  I  goes  there  first.  No, 
I  didn't  hypnotize  anybody.  I  simply  wrote 
out  an  application  for  a  job  on  the  firm's  sta- 
tionery, and  as  they  was  generous  with  it  I 
dashes  off  another  note  which  I  tucks  in  my 
pocket.  Nothing  sleuthy  required.  Why,  say, 
I  could  have  walked  out  with  the  letter  file  and 
the  safe  combination  if  I'd  wanted  to. 

So  when  I  rings  the  bell  up  at  Mr.  Petti- 
grew 's  I  has  something  besides  hot  air  to  shove 
at  Perkins.  He  qualifies  in  the  old  fam'ly 
servant  class  right  off,  for  as  soon  as  he  lamps 
the  name  printed  on  the  envelope  corner  he 
swings  the  door  wide  open,  and  inside  of  two 
minutes  I'm  bein'  announced  impressive  in  the 
library  at  the  back:  "From  your  attorneys, 
sir."  Which  as  far  as  it  goes  is  showin'  some 
speed,  eh? 

Yea-uh !  That's  the  way  I  felt  about  it.  All 
I  asked  was  to  be  put  next  to  this  Pettigrew 
party.  Not  that  I  had  any  special  spell  to  work 
off  on  him;  but,  as  Old  Hickory  said,  he  must 
be  human,  and  if  he  was,  why —  Well,  about 
then  I  begun  to  get  the  full  effect  of  this  weird, 
double-barreled  stare. 


110  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

Now,  I  don't  mind  takin'  the  once-over  from 
a  single  pair  of  shell-rimmed  goggles;  but  to 
find  yourself  bein'  inspected  through  two  sets 
of  barn  windows — honest,  it  seemed  like  the 
room  was  full  of  spectacles.  I  glanced  hasty 
from  one  to  the  other  of  these  solemn-lookin' 
parties  ranged  behind  the  book  barricade,  and 
then  takes  a  chance  that  the  one  with  the  sharp 
nose  and  the  dust-colored  hair  is  T.  Waldo. 

"Mr.  Pettigrew?"  says  I,  smilin'  friendly 
and  winnin'. 

"Not  at  all,"  says  he,  a  bit  pettish. 

"Oh,  yes,"  says  I,  turnin'  to  the  broken- 
nosed  one  with  the  wavy  black  pompadour 
effect.  "Of  course." 

He's  some  younger  than  the  other,  in  the  late 
twenties,  I  should  judge,  and  has  sort  of  a 
stern,  haughty  stare. 

"Why  of  course?"  he  demands. 

"Eh?"  says  I.  "Why — er — well,  you've  got 
my  note,  ain't  you,  there  in  your  hand?" 

"Ah!"  says  he.  "Rather  a  clever  deduc- 
tion; eh,  Tidman?" 

"I  shouldn't  say  so,"  croaks  the  other. 
"Quite  obvious,  in  fact.  If  it  wasn't  me  it  must 
be  you." 

* '  Oh,  but  you  're  such  a  deucedly  keen  chap, ' ' 
protests  Waldo.  Then  he  swings  back  to  me. 
"From  my  attorneys?" 


TOECHY  FOLLOWS  A  HUNCH     111 

"Just  came  from  there,"  says  I. 

"Odd,"  says  he.  "I  don't  remember  having 
seen  you  before." 

"That's  right,"  says  I.  "You  see,  Mr. 
Pettigrew,  I'm  really  representin'  the  Corru- 
gated Trust  and — " 

"Don't  know  it  at  all,"  breaks  in  Waldo. 

"That's  why  I'm  here,"  says  I.  "Now, 
here's  our  proposition." 

And  say,  before  he  can  get  his  breath  or 
duck  under  the  table,  I've  spread  out  the  blue- 
prints and  am  shootin'  the  prospectus  stuff 
into  him  at  the  rate  of  two 'hundred  words  to 
the  minute. 

Yes,  I  must  admit  I  was  feedin'  him  a  classy 
spiel,  and  I  was  just  throwin'  the  gears  into 
high-high  for  a  straightaway  spurt  when  all  of 
a  sudden  I  gets  the  hunch  I  ain't  makin'  half 
the  hit  I  hoped  I  was.  It's  no  false  alarm, 
either.  T.  Waldo's  gaze  is  gettin'  sterner 
every  minute,  and  he  seems  to  be  stiff enin' 
from  the  neck  down. 

"I  say,"  he  breaks  in,  "are — are  you  trying 
to  sell  me  something?" 

"Me?"  says  I.  "Gosh,  no!  I  hadn't  quite 
got  to  that  part,  but  my  idea  is  to  give  you 
a  chance  to  unload  something  on  us.  This 
Apache  Creek  land  of  yours." 


112  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

" Really/*  says  Waldo,  "I  don't  follow  you 
at  all.  My  land?" 

"Sure!"  says  I.  "All  this  shaded  pink. 
That's  yours,  you  know.  And  as  it  lays  now 
it's  about  as  useful  as  an  observation  car  in 
the  subway.  But  if  you'll  swap  it  for  preferred 
stock  in  our  power  company — " 

"No,"  says  he,  crisp  and  snappy.  "I  owned 
some  mining  stock  once,  and  it  was  a  fearful 
nuisance.  Every  few  months  they  wanted  me 
to  pay  something  on  it,  until  I  finally  had  to 
burn  the  stuff  up." 

"That's  one  way  of  gettin'  rid  of  bum 
shares, ' '  says  I.  ' '  But  look ;  this  is  no  flimflam 
gold  mine.  This  is  sure-fire  shookum — a  sound 
business  proposition  backed  by  one  of  the— 

"Pardon  me,"  says  T.  Waldo,  glarin'  an- 
noyed through  the  big  panes,  "but  I  don't  care 
to  have  shares  in  anything." 

"Oh,  very  well,"  says  I.  "We'll  settle  on 
a  cash  basis,  then.  Now,  you've  got  no  use  for 
that  tract.  We  have.  Course,  we  can  get  other 
land  just  as  good,  but  yours  is  the  handiest. 
If  you've  ever  tried  to  wish  it  onto  anyone, 
you  know  you  couldn't  get  a  dollar  an  acre. 
We'll  give  you  five." 

"Please  go  away,"  says  he. 

"Make  it  six,"  says  I.  "Now,  that  tract 
measures  up  about — " 


TOECHY  FOLLOWS  A  HUNCH     113 

t 

".Tidman,"  cuts  in  Mr.  Pettigrew,  "could 
you  manage  to  make  this  young  man  under- 
stand that  I  don't  care  to  be  bothered  with 
such  rot?" 

Tidman  didn't  have  a  chance. 

"Excuse  me,"  says  I,  flashin'  Old  Hickory's 
ten  thousand  dollar  check,  "but  if  there's  any- 
thing overripe  about  that,  just  let  me  know. 
That's  real  money,  that  is.  If  you  want  it 
certified  I'll—" 

"Stop,"  says  T.  Waldo,  holdin'  up  his  hand 
like  I  was  the  cross-town  traffic.  "You  must 
not  go  on  with  this  silly  business  chatter.  I 
am  not  in  the  least  interested.  Besides,  you 
are  interrupting  my  tutoring  period." 

"Your  which?"  says  I,  gawpin'. 

"Mr.  Tidman,"  he  goes  on,  "is  my  private 
tutor.  He  helps  me  to  study  from  ten  to  two 
every  day." 

"Gee!"  says  I.  "Ain't  you  a  little  late 
gettin'  into  college?" 

Waldo  sighs  weary. 

"If  I  must  explain,"  says  he,  "I  prefer  to 
continue  improving  my  mind  rather  than  idle 
away  my  days.  I've  never  been  to  college  or 
to  any  sort  of  school.  I've  been  tutored  at 
home  ever  since  I  can  remember.  I  did  give 
it  up  for  a  time  shortly  after  the  death  of  my 
father.  I  thought  that  the  management  of  the 


114  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

estate  would  keep  me  occupied.  But  I  have  no 
taste  for  business — none  at  all.  And  I  found 
that  by  leaving  my  father's  investments  pre- 
cisely as  they  came  to  me  my  affairs  could  be 
simplified.  But  one  must  do  something.  So 
I  engaged  Mr.  Tidman.  What  if  I  am  nearly 
thirty?  Is  that  any  reason  why  I  should  give 
up  being  tutored  I  There  is  so  much  to  learn ! 
And  to-day's  period  is  especially  interesting. 
We  were  just  about  getting  to  Thorwald  the 
Bitter." 

"Did  you  say  Biter  or  Batter?"  says  I. 

"I  said  Thorwald  the  Bitter,"  repeats 
Pettigrew.  "One  of  the  old  Norse  Vikings, 
you  know." 

"Goon,  shoot  it,"  says  I.  "What's  the 
joke?" 

"But  there's  no  joke  about  it,"  he  insists. 
"Surely  you  have  heard  of  the  Norse 
Vikings?" 

"Not  yet,"  says  I.  "I  got  my  ear  stretched, 
though. ' ' 

"Fancy!"  remarks  T.  Waldo,  turnin'  to 
Tidman. 

Tidman  stares  at  me  disgusted,  then  hunches 
his  shoulders  and  grunts,  "Oh,  well!" 

"And  now,"  says  Pettigrew,  "it's  nearly 
time  for  Epictetus." 

Sounded  something  like  lunch  to  me,  but  I 


TORCHY  FOLLOWS  A  HUNCH    115 

wasn't  takin'  any  hints.  I'd  discovered 
several  things  that  Waldo  didn't  care  for, 
money  being  among  'em,  and  now  I  was  tryin' 
to  get  a  line  on  what  he  did  like.  So  I  was  all 
for  stickin'  around. 

"Possibly,"  suggests  Tidman,  smilin'  sar- 
castic, "our  young  friend  is  an  admirer  of 
Epictetus?" 

"I  ain't  seen  many  of  the  big  games  this 
year,"  says  I.  "What  league  is  he  in?" 

"Epictetus,"  says  Waldo,  breakin'  it  to  me 
as  gentle  as  he  can,  "was  a  Greek  philosopher. 
We  are  reading  his  'Discourses.'  " 

"Oh!"  says  I.  "Not  so  close,  was  I?  Now, 
what  was  his  line  of  dope — something  like  the 
Dooley  stuff?" 

Waldo  and  Tidman  swaps  grins,  sort  of  sly 
and  sheepish,  like  they  wasn't  used  to  indulgin* 
in  such  frivolity.  They  seemed  to  enjoy  it, 
though,  and  the  first  thing  I  know  I'm  bein' 
put  through  a  sort  of  highbrow  third  degree, 
the  object  being  to  show  up  what  an  empty 
loft  I  wear  my  pink  thatch  on. 

Course,  they  didn't  have  to  dig  very  deep 
into  back-number  hist'ry  or  B.  C.  best  sellers 
to  prove  their  case,  and  when  an  extra  chuckle 
was  needed  I  admit  I  played  up  my  part  for 
all  it  was  worth.  Honest,  they  develops  into 
a  pair  of  reg'lar  cut-ups,  and  seems  to  be  havin' 


116  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

the  time  of  their  lives  discoverin'  that  I  thought 
Cleopatra  must  be  one  of  the  Russian  ballet 
and  Francis  Bacon  a  new  movie  star. 

"And  yet,"  says  Waldo,  inspectin'  me 
curious,  "your  employers  intrust  you  with  a 
ten  thousand  dollar  check." 

"They've  never  got  onto  me,  the  way  you 
have,"  says  I. 

"As  I  have  always  contended,"  puts  in 
Tidman,  "the  commercial  mind  is  much  over- 
rated. Its  intelligence  begins  with  the  dollar 
sign  and  ends  with  a  percentage  fraction.  In 
England,  now,  we — " 

"Well,  Peters?"  breaks  in  T.  Waldo,  glancin' 
annoyed  towards  the  double  doors,  where  the 
butler  is  teeterin'  back  and  forth  on  his  toes. 

"If  you  please,  sir,"  says  Peters,  registerin* 
deep  agitation,  "might  I  have  a  word  with  you 
in — er — in  private,  sir?" 

"Nonsense,  Peters,"  says  Waldo.  "Don't 
be  mysterious  about  silly  housekeeping  trifles. 
What  is  it?  Come,  speak  up,  man." 

"As  you  like,  sir,"  goes  on  Peters.  "It — 
it's  about  the  laundress,  sir.  She's  sitting  on 
a  man  in  the  basement,  sir." 

"Wha-a-at?"  gasps  Waldo. 

Tidman  takes  it  out  by  droppin*  a  book. 

"A  dangerous  character,  we  think,  sir,"  says 
the  butler — "most  likely  one  of  a  gang  of  bur- 


TOUCHY  FOLLOWS  A  HUNCH    117 

glars.  Mrs.  Flynn  found  him  lurking  in  the 
coal-bin  on  account  of  his  having  sneezed,  sir. 
Then  she  grappled  him,  sir." 

1  'Oh,  dear!"  groans  Tidman,  his  face  goin' 
putty-colored. 

"The  deuce!"  says  Waldo.  "And  you  say 
the  laundress  has  him — er — " 

"Quite  secure,  sir,"  says  Peters.  "Both 
hands  in  his  hair  and  she  sitting  on  his  chest, 
sir." 

"But — but  this  can't  go  on  indefinitely," 
says  Waldo.  "I  suppose  something  ought  to 
be  done  about  it." 

"I  should  suggest  sending  for  the  police, 
sir,"  says  Peters. 

"Bother!"  says  Waldo.  "That  means  my 
going  to  police  court,  and  having  the  thing  in 
the  papers,  and —  Why,  Tidman,  what's  the 
matter!" 

The  tutor  sure  was  takin'  it  hard.  His  thin, 
bony  fingers  are  clutchin'  the  chair  arm  des- 
perate, clammy  drops  are  startin'  out  on  his 
brow,  and  his  narrow-set  eyes  are  starin'  at 
Peters. 

"She's  such  a  heavy  female — Mrs.  Flynn," 
groans  Tidman.  "Right  on  his  chest,  too!" 

"Better  that  than  having  him  wake  us  up 
in  the  middle  of  the  night  flourishing  firearms 
and  demanding  valuables,"  says  Waldo. 


118  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

"Ugh!  Burglars.  How — how  silly  of  them  to 
come  here!  It's  so  disturbing,  and  I  do  dread 
having  the  police  in.  I  wish  you  wouldn't  look 
so  ghastly  over  it,  Tidman.  Come,  suggest 
something.'* 

But  Tidman  don't  seem  to  be  a  good  sug- 
gester.  "Both  hands  in  his  hair.  Oh!"  he 
mutters. 

* '  It 's  not  your  hair, ' '  sputters  Waldo.  '  *  And 
saying  idiotic  things  like  that  doesn't  help. 
Not  a  bit.  Must  I  call  the  police,  or  what?" 

"The  police!"  whispers  Tidman,  hoarse  and 
husky. 

"But  what  else  can  I  do?"  demands  Waldo. 
Then  he  turns  to  me.  "I  say,  can  you  think  of 
anything?" 

"Seems  to  me  I'd  have  a  look  at  the  gent 
first,"  says  I.  "Mistakes  sometimes  happen, 
you  know,  in  the  best  regulated  basements. 
Might  be  just  a  man  takin'  the  meters,  or  a 
plumber,  or  something  like  that." 

"By  George,  that's  so!"  says  T.  Waldo, 
chirkin'  up.  "But — er — must  I  go  down 
there?  Suppose  he  should  be  a  burglar, 
after  all?" 

"We'd  be  three  to  one,  not  countin'  Mrs. 
Flynn,"  says  I. 

"Would  you  help,  really?"  he  asks  eager. 
"You  see,  I'm  not  very  strong.  And  Tidman 


TORCHY  FOLLOWS  A  HUNCH    119 

— well,  you  can't  count  much  on  him.  Besides, 
how  does  one  know  a  burglar  by  sight  ? ' ' 

"They  don't  wear  uniforms,  that's  a  fact," 
says  I;  "but  I  might  ask  him  what  he  was  doin' 
down  there  and  call  for  proof.  Then,  if  he  was 
only  takin'  the  meter,  why — " 

"Of  course,"  says  Waldo.  "We  will — er — 
you'll  do  that  for  me,  will  you  not?  Come 
along,  Tidman.  You  too,  Peters.  We'll  just 
find  out  who  the  fellow  is." 

I  must  say,  it's  kind  of  a  draggy  rush  line 
they  formed,  Tidman  havin'  to  be  almost 
pushed,  and  Peters  keepin'  well  in  the  rear.  I 
finds  myself  leadin'  the  assault,  with  Waldo  a 
bad  second,  but  tellin'  me  which  turns  to  make 
and  urgin'  Tidman  to  follow  close. 

Sure  enough,  though,  there  on  the  laundry 
floor  we  discovers  the  victorious  Mrs.  Flynn, 
a  wide,  husky  party,  with  something  flattened 
underneath.  About  all  that's  visible  is  a  pair 
of  run-over  shoes  and  part  of  a  coat  sleeve 
that's  been  ripped  off.  She  seems  glad  to  see 
us. 

"Thanks  be!"  says  she,  sighin'  grateful. 
"It's  faint  and  wake  I  am  strugglin'  with  this 
murderous  little  shrimp.  Ah,  squirm,  will  ye! 
There's  men  to  handle  ye  now,  and  the 
coppers '11  soon  be  here.  Will  ye  take  charge 
of  him,  Mr.  Pettigrew?" 


120  WILT  THOU  TOECHY 

"No,  no!  Please,  Mrs.  Flynn!"  protests 
Waldo.  "You  are  doing  excellently.  Don't 
let  him  up  just  yet." 

" O-o-o-o !"  moans  the  flattened  gent.  "My 
poor  back!" 

"If  you  could  ease  up  a  bit,  so  we  might  get 
a  look  at  him,"  I  suggests.  "We  want  to  see 
if  he's  really  a  burglar." 

"He's  that,  all  right,"  says  Mrs.  Flynn. 
"Didn't  I  catch  him  red-handed  prowlin' 
about?  But  if  ye  want  to  see  what  his  ugly 
mug  looks  like,  ye  may.  There !  Sit  ye  up  and 
face  the  gintlemen!" 

She 's  a  shifty  party  with  her  hands  and  feet, 
for  with  a  couple  of  body  twists  Mrs.  Flynn 
is  on  her  knees  behind  him  with  his  arms 
pinned  to  the  small  of  his  back. 

"There,  thief  of  the  wor-ruld!"  says  she. 
"Tell  'em  whatever  you  came  to  steal." 

"Go  on,"  says  I.    "Mind  the  lady." 

"I — I'm  no  thief;  really,  gentlemen,"  says 
he.  "You  can  see  that,  I  trust." 

"Sure!"  says  I.  "Just  mistook  the  base- 
ment for  the  drawin'-room,  didn't  you?  And 
you  was  about  to  leave  cards  on  the  fam'ly. 
What  name  did  you  say?" 

"I — I'd  rather  not  give  my  name,"  says  he, 
hangin'  his>  head. 

"It's  being  done  in  the  best  circles,"  says  I. 


TOUCHY  FOLLOWS  A  HUNCH  121 

"  These  calls  incog,  are  gettin'  to  be  bad  form. 
Isn't  that  right,  Mr.  Pettigrew?" 

"If  he  is  a  gas  man  or  a  plumber,"  says 
Waldo,  "why  doesn't  he  say  so  at  once!" 

"There's  your  cue,"  says  I.  "Now  come 
across  with  the  alibi." 

"I — I  can't  explain  just  how  I  happen  to  be 
here,"  says  the  gent,  "but — but  there  are  those 
who  can." 

"Eh?"  says  I.    "Oh-ho!" 

It  was  only  a  quick  glance  he  shot  over,  but 
I  caught  who  it  was  aimed  at.  Also,  I  noticed 
the  effect.  And  just  like  that  I  had  a  swift 
hunch  how  all  this  ground-floor  mix-up  might 
be  worked  in  useful. 

"Mr.  Pettigrew,"  says  I,  "suppose  I  could 
Sherlock  Holmes  this  laundry  mystery  without 
callin'  in  the  cops!" 

"Oh,  I  should  be  so  grateful!"  says  T. 
Waldo. 

"That  ain't  the  answer,"  says  I.  "Would 
it  make  you  feel  different  about  sellin'  that 
land?" 

"Oh,  I  say,  you  know!"  protests  T.  Waldo, 
startin'  to  stiffen  up. 

For  a  two-by-four  he  lugs  around  a  lot  of 
cranky  whims,  and  it  looked  like  this  was  one 
of  his  pets.  There's  quite  a  mulish  streak  in 
him,  too. 


122  WILT  THOU  TOECHY 

"All  right,"  says  I,  startin'  towards  the 
basement  stairs.  "Settle  it  your  own  way." 

"But,  really,  I — I  don't  know  what  to  do," 
says  Waldo.  "I — I'm  all  upset.  Of  course,  if 
you  insist  on  the  land— 

"That's  talkin'!"  says  I.  "My  guess  is  that 
it  won't  take  long.  Suppose  you  and  Peters 
go  back  upstairs.  You  can  leave  Tidman, 
though. ' ' 

"You — you're  sure  it  is  safe?"  asks  Waldo. 

"Look  at  that  grip  of  Mrs.  Flynn's,"  says 
I. 

After  one  skittish  glance,  Waldo  does  a 
quick  exit.  At  that,  though,  Peters  beat 
him  to  it. 

"Tidman,"  says  I,  when  they're  gone,  "we'll 
step  out  towards  the  back  a  ways  and  consult. 
Hold  him  a  minute  longer,  Mrs.  Flynn." 

"I — I  don't  see  why  I  should  be  dragged 
into  this,"  whines  Tidman,  as  I  leads  him  to- 
wards the  rear. 

"Never  mind,"  says  I.  "We're  goin'  to 
clear  this  all  up  right  away.  Now,  who  is  he, 
Tidman?  Black-sheep  brother,  or  what?" 

Got  a  jump  out  of  him,  that  jab  did.  But 
he  recovers  quick. 

"Why,  he's  no  relative  at  all,"  says  Tidman. 
"I  assure  you  that  I  never  saw  the — " 

* '  Naughty,  naughty ! ' '  says  I.    '  *  Didn  't  I  spot 


TOECHY  FOLLOWS  A  HUNCH  123 

that  peaked  beak  of  his,  just  like  yours  f  That 's 
a  fam'ly  nose,  that  is." 

"Cousin,"  admits  Tidman,  turnin'  sulky. 

"And  sort  of  a  blot  on  the  escutcheon?"  I 
goes  on. 

Tidman  nods. 

"Booze  or  dope?"  I  asks. 

"Both,  I  think,"  says  Tidman.  "He— he 
has  almost  ruined  my  career." 

"Pulls  the  Black  Hand  stuff  on  you,  eh?" 
says  I. 

Tidman  groans. 

"I  lost  two  positions  because  of  him,"  says 
he.  "It  is  only  when  he  gets  desperate  that 
he  hunts  me  up.  I  hadn't  seen  him  for  over 
two  years  until  this  morning.  I'd  been  out  for 
a  walk,  and  he  must  have  followed  me.  We 
were  in  the  front  vestibule,  and  he  was  begging, 
as  usual, — threatening,  too, — when  I  saw  Mr. 
Pettigrew  coming  in.  So  I  hurried  Ralph 
through  the  hall  and  downstairs.  I  thought 
he  could  stay  there  until  I  was  through  tutor- 
ing; then  I  could  give  him  something  and  send 
him  off.  But  that  Mrs.  Flynn— " 

"She's  a  swell  short-stop,"  says  I.  "Doin' 
extra  duty,  too.  Got  a  couple  of  fives  on  you?" 

"Why,  ye-e-es,"  says  Tidman;  "but 
what—" 

"You're  goin'  to  reward  her  for  sittin*  on 


124  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

Cousin  Ralph  so  long,"  says  I.  "Give  her  one 
of  the  fives.  You  can  slip  the  other  to  him  as 
we  shoo  him  through  the  back  door.  Now,  let 's 
go  relieve  Mrs.  Flynn." 

From  the  rough  way  we  collared  Ralph  and 
led  him  off,  she  must  have  thought  we  was 
headin'  him  straight  for  Sing  Sing.  Anyway, 
that  five-spot  kept  her  mind  busy. 

Our  remarks  to  Ralph  were  short  but  meaty. 

"You  see  the  bally  muss  you  got  me  into, 
I  hope,"  says  Tidman. 

"And  just  remember,"  I  adds,  "when  the 
fit  strikes  you  to  call  again,  that  Mrs.  Flynn 
is  always  on  hand." 

"She's  a  female  hyena,  that  woman,"  says 
Cousin  Ralph,  rubbin'  his  back  between  groans. 
"I — I  wouldn't  get  within  a  mile  of  her  again 
for  a  fortune." 

Couldn't  have  been  more'n  ten  minutes  be- 
fore the  three  of  us — Waldo,  Tidman,  and  me 
— was  all  grouped  in  the  lib'ry  again,  just  as 
though  nothing  had  happened. 

"My  hunch  was  right,"  says  I.  "He  wasn't 
a  burglar.  Ask  Tidman." 

Tidman  backs  me  up  hearty. 

"Then  who  the  deuce  was  he,"  demands 
Waldo,  "and  what  was  he — " 

"Now,  say!"  says  I.  "You've  been  let  out, 
ain't  you!  He's  gone;  no  police,  no  court  pro- 


TORCHY  FOLLOWS  A  HUNCH  125 

ceedin's,  no  scandal  in  the  servants'  quarters. 
Ain't  that  enough?" 

"You're  quite  right,"  says  Waldo.  "And 
we  still  have  time  for  that  chapter  of— 

"So  you  have,"  says  I;  "only  you  got  to 
ditch  this  Toothpicketus  work  until  you  sign 
an  order  to  your  lawyers  about  sellin'  that 
land.  Here,  lemme  draft  it  off  for  you.  Twelve 
words.  Likely  they'll  want  an  0.  K.  on  the 
'phone,  too;  but  you  won't  mind  that.  Now 
your  signature.  Thanks.  And  say,  any  time 
you  and  Tidman  need  a  crude  commercial  mind 
to  help  you  out,  just  send  for  me." 

Uh-huh !  By  three  o'clock  next  day  we  owned 
the  whole  of  that  Apache  Creek  tract  and  had 
the  goods  to  shove  at  Ballinger. 

Was  it  a-  smear?  It  was — a  smear  plus. 
Tickled!  Why,  Old  Hickory  came  so  near 
smilin'  I  was  afraid  that  armor-plate  face  of 
his  was  goin'  to  crack. 

But  say,  don't  tell  the  National  Real 
Estaters'  League  about  that  commission  check 
he  slipped  me.  I  might  lose  my  amateur 
standin'. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

BREAKING   ODD   WITH    MYRA 

NEXT  time  I'll  pay  attention.  For  Vee  must 
have  mentioned  how  this  Cousin  Myra  of  hers 
was  comin'.  Yes,  I  remember  now.  Said 
something  about  her  being  an  old-maid  niece 
of  Auntie's  who  was  due  to  drift  in  from 
Bermuda  or  California  or  somewhere,  and  that 
she  might  stay  over  a  few  days. 

But  it  was  no  solemn  warnin',  as  it  had  a 
right  to  be.  So,  by  the  time  I  gets  this  sudden 
hunch  the  other  night  about  runnin'  up  for 
a  little  unlisted  chat  with  Vee,  I  must  have 
forgotten.  Not  one  of  my  reg'lar  evenin's, 
you  understand,  nor  any  special  date:  I  was 
just  takin'  a  chance.  And  when  the  maid  tells 
me  Miss  Vee  and  Auntie  have  gone  out  for  an 
after-dinner  stroll  on  the  Drive,  I  chucks  my 
new  felt-rim  straw  on  the  hall  table  and  re- 
marks careless  that,  as  Auntie  ain  't  likely  to  do 
any  Marathon  before  bedtime,  I  guess  I'll  wait. 

Helma  grins.  "Mees  Burr,  she  in  bookrary, 
yes,"  says  she. 

126 


BREAKING  ODD  WITH  MYRA     127 

"Oh!"  says  I.  "The  cousin?  That'll  be 
all  the  better.  Good  chance  for  me  to  be  gettin' 
in  right  with  her.  Tell  her  what  to  expect, 
Helma. 

That's  the  sort  of  social  plunger  I  am — 
regular  drawin'-room  daredevil,  facin'  all 
comers,  passin'  out  the  improvised  stuff  to 
strangers,  and  backin'  myself  strong  for  any 
common  indoor  event.  That  is,  I  was  until 
about  8:13  that  evenin'.  Then  I  got  in  range 
of  them  quick-firin'  dart  throwers  belongin'  to 
Miss  Myra  Burr. 

Say,  there's  some  people  that  shouldn't  be 
allowed  at  large  without  blinders  on.  Myra's 
one.  Her  eyes  are  the  stabby  kind,  worse  than 
long  hatpins.  Honest,  after  one  glance  I  felt 
like  I  was  bein'  held  up  on  a  fork. 

"Ouch!"  says  I,  under  my  breath.  But  she 
must  have  heard. 

"I  beg  pardon,"  says  she.  "Did  you  say 
something?" 

'  *  Side  remark  to  my  elbow, ' '  says  I.  * '  Must 
have  caught  the  doorcasing  as  I  came  through. 
Excuse  it." 

"Oh!"  says  she.  "You  are  the  young  man 
who  dances  such  constant  attendance  on 
Verona,  are  you?" 

"That's  a  swell  way  of  puttin'  it,"  says  I. 
"And  I  suppose  you're  the — er — " 


128  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

"I  am  Miss  Burr,"  says  she.  "Verona  is 
my  cousin." 

"Well,  well!"  says  I.    "Think  of  that!" 

"Please  don't  reflect  on  it  too  hard,"  says 
she,  "if  you  find  the  fact  unpleasant." 

"Why — er — "  I  begins,  "I  only  meant — • 
ah —  Don't  let  me  crash  in  on  your  readin', 
though. ' ' 

Her  thin  lips  flatten  into  a  straight  line — 
the  best  imitation  of  a  smile  she  can  work  up, 
I  expect — and  she  turns  down  a  leaf  in  her 
magazine.  Then  she  shifts  sudden  to  another 
chair,  where  she  has  me  under  the  electrolier, 
facin'  her,  and  I  knows  that  I'm  let  in  for 
something.  I  could  almost  hear  the  clerk 
callin',  "Hats  off  in  the  courtroom." 

Odd,  ain't  it,  how  you  can  get  sensations  like 
that  just  from  a  look  or  two?  And  with  dim- 
mers on  them  lamps  of  hers  Myra  wouldn't 
have  scared  anybody.  Course,  her  nose  does 
have  sort  of  a  thin  edge  to  it,  and  her  narrow 
mouth  and  pointed  chin  sort  of  hints  at  a 
barbed- wire  disposition;  but  nothing  real  dan- 
gerous. 

Still,  Myra  ain't  one  you'd  snuggle  up  to 
casual,  or  expect  to  do  any  hand-holdin'  with. 
She  ain't  costumed  for  the  part,  for  one  thing. 
No,  hardly.  Her  idea  of  an  evenin'  gown 
seems  to  be  to  kick  off  her  ridin '-boots  and  pin 


BREAKING  ODD  WITH  MYRA     129 

on  a  skirt.  She  still  sticks  to  the  white  neck- 
stock;  and,  the  way  her  hair  is  parted  in  the 
middle  and  drawn  back  tight  over  her  ears, 
she's  all  fixed  to  weather  a  gale.  Yes,  Myra 
has  all  the  points  of  a  plain,  common-sense 
female  party  just  taggin'  thirty-five  good-by. 

Not  that  I  puts  any  of  them  comments  on  the 
record,  or  works  'em  in  as  repartee.  Nothing 
like  that.  I  may  look  foolish,  but  there  are 
times  when  I  know  enough  not  to  rock  the  boat. 
Besides,  this  was  Myra's  turn  at  the  bat;  and, 
believe  me,  she's  no  bush-leaguer. 

"H-m-m-m!"  says  she,  givin'  me  the  up- 
and-down  inventory.  "No  wonder  you're 
called  Torchy.  One  seldom  sees  hair  quite  so 
vivid. ' ' 

"I  know,"  says  I.  "No  use  tryin'  to  play  it 
for  old  rose,  is  there?  All  I'm  touchy  about 
is  havin'  it  called  red." 

"For  goodness'  sake!"  says  she.  "What 
shade  would  you  call  it?" 

"Why,"  says  I,  "I  think  it  sounds  more  re- 
fined to  speak  of  it  as  pink  plus." 

But  Myra  seems  to  be  josh-proof. 

"That,  I  presume,"  says  she,  "is  a  speci- 
men of  what  Aunt  Cornelia  refers  to  as  your 
unquenchable  impertinence." 

"Oh!"  says  I.  "If  you've  been  gettin' 
Auntie's  opinion  of  me — " 


130  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

"I  have,"  says  Myra;  "and,  as  a  near  rela- 
tive of  Verona's,  I  trust  you'll  pardon  me  if  I 
seem  a  bit  critical  on  my  own  part." 

"Don't  mind  me  at  all,"  says  I.  "You  don't 
like  the  way  I  talk  or  the  color  of  my  hair.  Go 
on." 

She  ain't  one  to  be  led  anywhere,  though. 

"I  understand,"  says  Myra,  "that  you  come 
here  two  or  three  evenings  a  week." 

"That's  about  the  schedule,"  says  I. 

"And  just  why?"  demands  Myra. 

"It's  more  or  less  of  a  secret,"  says  I;  "but 
there 's  always  a  chance,  you  know,  of  my  havin ' 
a  cozy  little  fam'ly  chat  like  this.  And  when 
that  don't  happen — well,  then  I  can  talk  with 
Vee." 

Miss  Burr's  mouth  puckers  until  it  looks  like 
a  slit  in  a  lemon. 

"To  be  perfectly  frank,"  says  she,  "I  think 
it  unutterably  silly  of  Aunt  Cornelia  to  allow 
it." 

"I  can  see  where  you're'goin'  to  be  a  great 
help,"  says  I.  "Stayin*  some  time,  are  you?" 

"That  depends,"  says  Myra — and  the  way 
she  snaps  at  me  is  almost  assault  with  intent 
to  maim.  "I  suppose,"  she  goes  on,  "that  you 
and  Verona  are  quite  as  insufferable  as  young 
people  usually  are.  Tell  me;  do  you  sit  in 
corners  and  giggle?" 


BREAKING  ODD  WITH  MYRA     131 

"Not  as  a  rule,"  says  I,  "but  it  looks  like 
we  would." 

"At  me,  I  presume?"  says  Myra.  "Very 
well;  I  accept  the  challenge." 

And  say,  she's  no  prune-fed  pacifist,  Cousin 
Myra.  Course,  she  don't  swing  the  hammer 
quite  so  open  when  the  folks  get  back,  for  Vee 
ain't  one  you  can  walk  on  with  hobnails  and 
get  away  with  it.  I  guess  Myra  suspicioned 
that.  But,  when  it  comes  to  sly  jabs  and  spicy 
little  side  remarks  shot  in  casual,  Miss  Burr 
lives  up  to  her  last  name. 

"Oh,  yes!"  says  she,  when  they  tries  to 
introduce  us  reg'lar.  "We  have  become  well 
acquainted — very. ' ' 

1 1  How  nice ! ' '  says  Vee,  sort  of  innocent. 

"I  am  glad  you  think  so,"  says  Myra. 

And  for  the  rest  of  the  evenin'  she  confines 
her  remarks  to  Auntie,  cuttin'  loose  with  the 
sarcasm  at  every  openin'  and  now  and  then 
tossin'  an  explosive  gas  bomb  at  us  over 
Auntie's  shoulder.  Nothing  anyone  could 
grab  up  and  hurl  back  at  her,  you  know.  It's 
all  shootin'  from  ambush.  Some  keen  tongue 
she  has,  take  it  from  me.  At  9 :30  I  backed  out 
under  fire,  leavin'  Vee  with  her  ears  pinked 
up  and  a  smolderin'  glow  in  them  gray  eyes 
of  hers. 

If  it  hadn't  been  for  puttin'  myself  in  the 


132  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

quitter  class  I'd  laid  off  Sunday  night.  But 
I  just  couldn't  do  that.  So  we  stands  another 
siege.  No  use  tryin'  to  describe  it.  Cousin 
Myra's  tactics  are  too  sleuthy.  Just  one  jab 
after  another,  with  them  darnin '-needle  eyes 
addin'  the  fine  touches. 

But  this  time  Vee  only  smiles  back  at  her 
and  never  answers  once.  Why,  even  Auntie 
takes  up  a  couple  of  Myra's  little  slams  and 
debates  the  point  with  her  enthusiastic. 
Nothing  from  Vee,  though.  I  don't  under- 
stand it  a  bit  until  it 's  all  over,  and  Vee  follows 
me  out  into  the  hall  and  helps  me  find  my 
hat.  Quite  careless,  she  shuts  the  door  behind 
us. 

"Whew!"  says  I.  "Some  grouch,  Cousin 
Myra!  What  is  it — shootin'  pains  in  the  dis- 
position ? ' ' 

Vee  snickers.  "Did  you  mind  very  much, 
Torchy?"  she  asks. 

"Me?"  says  I.  "Oh,  I  was  brought  up  on 
roasts — never  knew  much  else.  But,  I  must 
say,  I  was  gettin*  a  bit  hot  on  your  account." 

"Don't,"  says  she.  "You  see,  I  know  all 
about  Cousin  Myra — why  she's  like  that,  I 
mean." 

"On  a  diet  of  mixed  pickles  and  sour  milk, 
is  she?"  says  I— "or  what?" 

No,  it  wasn't  anything  so  simple  as  that. 


BREAKING  ODD  WITH  MYRA     133 

It  was  a  case  of  a  romance  that  got  ditched. 
Seems  that  Myra'd  been  engaged  once.  No 
idle  seashore  snap  runnin'  from  Fourth  of 
July  to  Labor  Day,  but  a  long-winded,  year- 
to-year  affair.  The  party  of  the  second  part 
was  one  Hinckley,  a  young  highbrow  who 
knew  so  much  that  it  took  the  college  faculty 
a  long  time  to  discover  that  he  was  worth 
more'n  an  assistant  bartender  and  almost  as 
much  as  a  fourth-rate  movie  actor.  Then,  too, 
Myra's  father  had  something  lingerin'  the 
matter  with  him,  and  wouldn't  let  anybody 
manage  him  but  her.  Hymen  hobbled  by  both 
hind  feet,  as  you  might  say. 

They  was  keepin'  at  it  well,  though,  each 
bearin*  up  patient  and  waitin'  for  the  happy 
day,  when  Myra's  younger  sister  came  home 
from  boardin '-school  and  begun  her  campaign 
by  practisin'  on  the  Professor,  just  because 
he  happened  to  be  handy.  She  was  a  sweet 
young  thing  with  cheek  dimples  and  a  trilly 
laugh,  and — well,  you  can  guess  the  rest.  Only, 
when  little  sister  has  made  a  complete  hash 
of  things,  she  skips  merrily  off  and  marries 
a  prominent  Varsity  quarter-back  who  has 
water  on  the  knee  and  the  promise  of  a  nine- 
dollar-a-week  job  in  uncle's  stove  works. 

Course,  Myra  really  should  have  made  it  up 


134  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

when  Professor  Hinckley  finally  does  come 
crabbin'  around  with  another  ring  and  a  sad- 
eyed  alibi.  But  she  wouldn't — not  her.  Be- 
sides, father  had  begun  takin'  mud  baths  and 
experimentm'  with  climates. 

So  for  eight  or  ten  years  she  went  driftin' 
around  here  and  there,  battlin'  with  room 
clerks  and  head  waiters,  hirin'  and  firin' 
nurses,  packin'  trunks  every  month  or  so,  and 
generally  enjoyin'  the  life  of  a  health  hunter, 
with  her  punctured  romance  trailin'  further 
and  further  behind  her.  Even  after  father 
had  his  final  spell  and  the  last  doctor's  bill 
was  paid  off,  Myra  kept  on  knockin*  around, 
claimin*  there  wouldn't  be  any  fun  makin'  a 
home  just  for  herself.  Why  not?  Her  income 
was  big  enough,  so  she  didn't  have  to  worry 
about  rates.  All  she  asked  was  a  room  and 
bath  somewhere,  and  when  the  season  changed 
she  moved  on.  She'd  got  so  she  could  tell  you 
the  bad  points  about  every  high-priced  resort 
hotel  from  Catalina  to  Bar  Harbor,  and  she 
knew  so  many  veranda  bores  by  sight  that  she 
could  never  shake  all  of  'em  for  more'n  a  day 
or  so  at  a  time. 

"No  wonder  she's  grown  waspy,  living  a  life 
like  that,"  says  Vee. 

"Ain't  there  any  way  of  our  duckin'  this 
continuous  stingfest,  though?"  says  I. 


BREAKING  ODD  WITH  MYRA     135 

"There  is  something  I'd  like  to  try,"  says 
Vee,  "if  you'll  promise  to  help." 

"  If  it 's  a  plan  to  put  anything  bver  on  Miss 
Burr,"  says  I,  "you  can  count  on  me." 

"Suppose  it  sounds  silly?"  says  Vee. 

"Comin'  from  you,"  says  I,  "it  couldn't." 

"Blarney!"  says  Vee.  "But  you've  said 
you'd  help,  so  listen;  we'll  give  a  Myra  day." 

"A  which?"  says  I. 

"Come  here  while  I  whisper,"  says  she. 

I  expect  that's  why  it  don't  sound  more'n 
half  nutty,  too,  delivered  that  way.  For  with 
Vee's  chin  on  my  shoulder,  and  some  of  that 
silky  straw-colored  hair  brushin'  my  face,  and 
a  slim,  smooth  arm  hooked  chummy  through 
one  of  mine — well,  say;  she  could  make  a  tab- 
ulated bank  statement  listen  like  one  of  Grant- 
land  Rice's  baseball  lyrics.  Do  I  fall  for  her 
proposition?  It's  almost  a  jump. 

"All  right,"  says  I.  "Not  that  I  can  figure 
how  it's  goin'  to  work  out,  but  if  that's  your 
idea  of  throwin'  the  switch  on  her,  I'm  right 
behind  you.  Just  give  me  the  proper  cues, 
that's  all." 

"Wait  until  I  hear  from  my  telegram,"  says 
Vee.  "I'll  let  you  know." 

I  didn't  get  the  word  until  Tuesday  after- 
noon, when  she  'phones  down. 

"He's  coming,"  says  Vee.     "Isn't  he  the 


136  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

dear,  though?  So  "We'll  make  it  to-morrow. 
Everything  you  can  possibly  think  of,  remem- 
ber." 

As  a  starter  I'd  spotted  the  elevator-boy  up 
at  Auntie's.  Andrew  Zink  is  his  full  name, 
and  he 's  a  straight-haired  smoke  from  the  West 
Indies.  We'd  exchanged  a  few  confidential 
comments  on  Miss  Burr,  and  I'd  discovered 
she  was  just  about  as  popular  with  him  as  she 
was  with  the  rest  of  us. 

"But  for  to-morrow,  Andy,"  says  I,  slippin' 
him  a  whole  half  dollar,  "we're  goin'  to  for- 
get it.  See?  It'll  be,  'Oh,  yes,  Miss  Burr,' 
and  'Certainly,  Miss  Burr,'  all  day  long,  not 
omitting  the  little  posie  you're  goin'  to  offer 
her  first  thing  in  the  mornin'." 

Andy  tucks  away  the  half  and  grins. 

"Very  well,  sir,"  says  he.  "It'll  be  quite 
a  lark,  sir." 

Next  I  fixed  it  up  with  Mike,  the  doorman. 
He'd  had  a  little  run-in  with  Myra  about  not 
gettin'  a  taxi  quite  quick  enough  for  her,  so  I 
had  to  double  the  ante  and  explain  how  this 
was  a  scheme  Vee  was  workin*. 

"Sure!"  says  he.  "Anything  Miss  Verona 
says  goes  with  me.  I'll  do  my  best." 

The  hard  part  came,  though,  when  I  has  to 
invite  Myra  to  this  little  dinner-party  I'm 
supposed  to  be  givin'.  Course,  it's  Auntie's 


blow,  but  she's  been  primed  by  Vee  to  insist 
that  I  do  the  honors.  First  off,  I  was  goin' 
to  run  up  durin'  lunch  hour  and  pass  it  to 
Cousin  Myra  in  person;  but  about  eleven 
o'clock  I  decides  it  would  be  safer  to  use  the 
'phone. 

"Oh!"  says  she.  "I  am  to  be  utilized  as  a 
chaperon,  am  I?" 

"Couldn't  think  of  anybody  who'd  do  it 
better,"  says  I;  "but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  that 
ain't  the  idea.  Auntie's  going,  you  see,  and  I 
thought  maybe  I  could  induce  you  to  come 
along,  too." 

"But  I  detest  hotel  dinners,"  says  she. 

"Ah,  come  on!  Be  a  sport!"  says  I. 
"Lemme  show  you  what  I  can  pick  from  the 
menu.  For  one  item,  there'll  be  tripe  a  la 
mode  de  Caen." 

"Then  I'll  come,"  says  Myra.  "But  how 
on  earth,  young  man,  did  you  know  that — " 

"Just  wait!"  says  I.  "You  got  a  lot  of 
guessin'  besides  that.  I'll  call  for  you  at  seven 
sharp. ' ' 

So  I  spent  most  of  my  noon  hour  rustlin' 
through  florist  shops  to  get  the  particular  kind 
of  red  roses  I'd  been  tipped  off  to  find.  I 
located  'em,  though,  and  bought  up  the  whole 
stock,  sendin'  part  to  the  house  and  luggin* 
the  rest  to  the  head  waiter.  While  I  was  at 


138  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

the  hotel,  too,  I  got  next  to  the  orchestra  leader 
and  gave  him  the  names  of  some  pieces  he  was 
to  spring  durin'  dinner. 

After  all,  though,  it  was  Auntie  who  turned 
the  cleverest  trick.  She'd  got  real  enthusi- 
astic by  Wednesday  mornin',  and  what  does 
she  do  but  dash  down  to  the  Maison  Felice, 
pick  out  a  two-hundred-dollar  evenin'  gown, 
and  have  it  sent  up  with  a  fitter.  Vee  says 
Myra  simply  wouldn't  open  the  box  for  half 
an  hour;  but  then  she  softened  up,  and  after 
she'd  been  buckled  into  this  pink  creation  with 
the  rosebud  shoulder  straps  she  consents  to 
take  one  squint  at  the  glass.  Then  it  develops 
that  Myra  is  still  human.  From  that  to  allowin' 
a  hairdresser  to  be  called  in  was  only  a  step, 
which  explains  the  whole  miracle  of  how  Myra 
blossomed  out. 

And  say,  for  a  late  bloomin'  it  was  a  wonder. 
Honest,  when  I  gets  my  first  glimpse  of  her 
standin'  under  the  hall  light  with  Hilda  holdin' 
her  opera  wrap,  I  lets  out  a  gurgle.  Had  I 
wandered  into  the  wrong  apartment?  Was  I 
disturbin*  some  leadin'  lady  just  goin'  on  for 
the  first  act?  No,  there  was  Cousin  Myra's 
thin  nose  and  pointed  chin.  But,  with  her  hair 
loosened  up  and  her  cheeks  tinted  a  bit  from 
excitement,  she  looks  like  a  different  party. 
Almost  stunnin',  you  know. 


BREAKING  ODD  WITH  MYRA     139 

Vee  nudges  me  to  quit  the  gawp  act. 

* '  Gosh ! "  I  whispers.  ' '  Who  'd  have  thought 
it!" 

"S-s-s-sh!"  says  Vee.  "We  don't  want  her 
to  suspect  a  thing." 

I  don't  know  whether  she  did  or  not,  but 
when  we're  towed  into  the  dinin'-room  she 
spots  the  table  decorations  right  off,  and  whirls 
on  me. 

"Here's  plotting,  young  man,"  says  she. 
"But  if  you  will  tell  me  how  you  discovered  I 
was  so  fond  of  Louis  Philippe  roses  I'll  forgive 
you. ' ' 

"Looks  like  I  was  a  good  guesser,  don't 
it  I"  says  L 

"You're  good  at  something,  anyway," 
says  Cousin  Myra;  "but — but  why  five 
places?" 

She's  noticed  the  extra  plate  and  is  glancin' 
around  inquirin'. 

"Oh!"  says  I,  offhand,  "odd  numbers  for 
luck,  so  I  took  a  chance  on  askin'  in  an  old 
friend  of  yours.  He  ought  to  be  in  the  cloak- 
room by  now.  I'll  go  fetch  him." 

You  should  have  seen  the  look  on  her  face, 
too,  when  I  shows  up  with  Professor  Hinckley. 
He's  a  perfectly  good  highbrow,  understand 
— pointed  face  whiskers,  shaggy  forelock,  wide 
black  ribbon  on  his  eyeglasses,  and  all — sort 


140  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

of  a  mild-eyed,  modest  appearin'  gent,  but  kind 
of  distinguished-lookm ',  at  that.  And  you'd 
never  guess  how  nervous  he  really  was. 

"Well,  Myra?"1  says  he,  beamin'  friendly 
through  his  glasses. 

"Lester!"  she  gasps. 

They  didn't  exactly  go  to  a  clinch,  but  they 
shook  hands  so  long  the  waiter  had  to  slide 
the  caviar  canape  between  'em,  and  even  after 
we  got  'em  to  sit  down  they  couldn't  seem  to 
break  off  gazin'  at  each  other.  As  a  fond  re- 
union it  was  a  success  from  the  first  tap  of  the 
bell.  They  went  to  it  strong. 

As  for  the  Profess.,  he  seemed  to  be  knocked 
clear  off  his  pins.  Honest,  I  don't  believe  he 
knew  whether  he  was  eatin'  dinner  or  steerin' 
an  airship.  I  caught  him  once  tryin'  to  butter 
an  olive  with  a  bread  stick,  and  he  sopped  up 
a  pink  cocktail  without  even  lookin'  at  it.  The 
same  thing  happened  to  the  one  Vee  pushed 
over  near  his  absent-minded  hand.  And  the 
deeper  he  got  into  the  dinner  the  livelier  grew 
the  twinkle  in  them  mild  eyes  of  his. 

Cousin  Myra,  too,  was  mellowin'  fast.  The 
first  time  she  let  loose  with  a  laugh,  I  near 
fell  off  my  chair;  but  before  long  I  got  used 
to  it.  Next  thing  I  knew,  she  was  smilin'  across 
at  me  real  roguish,  and  beatin'  time  with  her 
finger-tips  to  the  music. 


BREAKING  ODD  WITH  MYRA     141 

"Ah,  ha!"  says  she.  "More  of  your  tricks. 
I  thought  the  'Nocturne*  was  just  an  accident, 
but  now  the  'Blue  Danube' — that  is  your  work, 
young  man.  Or  is  it  Verona's?  Come  now, 
what  are  you  up  to,  you  two  over  there?" 

"Ask  Torchy,"  says  Vee,  shakin'  her  head. 

"Don't  you  believe  her,"  says  I.  "She's 
the  one  that  planned  most  of  this." 

"But  what  is  it!"  demands  Cousin  Myra. 
"What  do  you  call  it?" 

"Why,"  says  I,  grinnin'  more  or  less 
foolish,  "we're  just  givin'  a  Myra  day,  that's 
all." 

"Splendid!"  says  she.  "And  the  fact  that 
I  don't  in  the  least  deserve  it  makes  it  seem 
all  the  nicer.  I  suppose  your  being  here, 
Lester,  is  part  of  the  plot,  too?" 

"I  hope  so,"  says  the  Professor. 

"Do  you  know,"  says  Myra,  liftin'  her  glass 
and  glancin'  kittenish  over  the  brim  at  him, 
"I  mean  to  try  to  live  up  to  this  day.  I  don't 
mind  saying,  though,  that  for  a  while  it's  going 
to  be  an  awful  strain." 

"Anyway,"  says  I  to  Vee,  after  it's  all  over 
and  the  Professor  has  finally  said  good  night, 
"she's  got  a  good  start." 

"Yes,"  says  Vee,  "  and  perhaps  Lester  will 
help  some.  I  didn't  quite  look  for  that.  It's 
been  fun,  though,  hasn't  it?" 


142  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

"For  an  indoor  sport,"  says  I,  "givin*  a 
Myra  day  is  a  lot  merrier  than  it  sounds.  It 
beats  bein'  good  to  yourself  nine  up  and  six 
to  go." 


CHAPTER  IX 

REPORTING    BLANK    ON    EUPERT 

AND  yet,  IVe  had  people  ask  me  if  this  pri- 
vate sec.  job  didn't  get  sort  of  monotonous! 
Does  it?  Say,  listen  a  while! 

I  was  breezin'  through  the  arcade  here  the 
other  noon,  about  twenty  minutes  behind  my 
lunch  schedule,  when  someone  backs  away  from 
the  marble  wall  tablets  the  agents  have  erected 
in  honor  of  them  firms  that  keep  their  rent 
paid.  Some  perfect  stranger  it  is,  who  does 
the  reverse  goose  step  so  unexpected  that 
there's  no  duckin7  a  collision.  Quite  a  sub- 
stantial party  he  is,  too,  and  where  my  nose 
connects  with  his  shoulder  he's  built  about  as 
solid  as  a  concrete  pillar. 

1  'Say,"  I  remarks,  when  the  aurora  borealis 
has  faded  out  and  I  can  see  straight  again,  "if 
you're  goin'  to  carom  around  that  way  in 
public,  you  ought  to  wear  pads." 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry,"  says  he.  "I  didn't  mean 
to  be  so  awkward.  Hope  you're  not  hurt,  sir." 

Then  I  did  do  some  gawpin'.  For  who'd 
ever  expect  a  big,  rough-finished  husk  like  that 

143 


144  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

would  have  such  a  soft,  ladylike  voice  concealed 
about  him?  And  the  "sir"  was  real  soothin'. 

"It's  all  right,"  says  I.  "Guess  I  ain't 
disabled  for  life.  Next  time,  though,  I'll  be 
particular  to  walk  around." 

"But  really,"  he  goes  on,  "I — I'm  not  here 
regularly.  I  was  just  trying  to  find  a  name — 
a  Mr.  Robert  Ellins." 

"Eh?"  says  I.  "Lookin'  for  Mr.  Robert, 
are  you?" 

"Then  you  know  him?"  he  asks  eager. 

"Ought  to,"  says  I.  "He's  my  boss.  Cor- 
rugated Trust  is  what  you  should  have  looked 
under." 

"Ah,  yes;  I  remember  now,"  says  he. 
"Corrugated  Trust — that's  the  part  I'd  for- 
gotten. Then  perhaps  you  can  tell  me  just 
where — " 

"I  could,"  says  I,  "but  it  wouldn't  do  you 
a  bit  of  good.  He's  got  appointments  up  to 
1 :15.  After  that  he  '11  be  taking  two  hours  off 
for  luncheon — if  he  comes  back  at  all.  Better 
make  a  date  for  to-morrow  or  next  day." 

Th0  solid  gent  looks  disappointed. 

"I  had  hoped  I  might  find  him  to-day,"  says 
he.  "It — it's  rather  important." 

At  which  I  sizes  him  up  a  little  closer.  Sort 
of  a  carrot  blond,  this  gent  is,  with  close- 
cropped  pale  red  hair,  about  the  ruddiest  neck 


you  ever  saw  off  a  turkey  gobbler,  and  a  face 
that's  so  freckled  it  looks  crowded.  The 
double-breasted  blue  serge  coat  and  the  blue 
flannel  shirt  with  the  black  sailor  tie  gives 
me  a  hunch,  though.  Maybe  he's  one  of  Mr. 
Robert's  yacht  captains. 

''What  name?"  says  I. 

"Killam,"  says  he.    "Rupert  Killam." 

"Sounds  bloodthirsty,"  says  I.  "Cap'n, 
eh?"  ', 

"Why — er — yes,"  says  he.  "That  is  what 
I  am  usually  called." 

"I  see,"  says  I.  "Used  to  sail  his  60-footer, 
did  you?" 

No,  that  wasn't  quite  the  idea,  either.  That's 
somewhere  near  his  line,  though,  and  he  wants 
to  see  Mr.  Robert  very  particular. 

"I  think  I  may  assure  you,"  the  Captain 
goes  on,  "that  it  will  be  to  his  advantage." 

"In  that  case,"  says  I,  "you'd  better  tell  it 
to  me ;  private  sec.,  you  know.  And  if  you  make 
a  date  that's  what  you'll  have  to  do,  anyway. 
Suppose  you  come  along  and  feed  with  me. 
Then  you  can  shoot  the  details  durin'  lunch 
and  we'll  save  time.  Oh,  I'll  charge  it  up  to 
the  firm,  never  fear." 

The  Cap.  don't  seem  anxious  to  have  his 
information  strained  through  a  third  party 
that  way,  but  I  finally  convinces  him  it's  the 


146  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

regular  course  for  gettin'  a  hearin',  so  he  trails 
along  to  the  chophouse.  And,  in  spite  of  his 
flannel  shirt,  Rupert  seems  well  table  broken. 
He  don't  do  the  bib  act  with  his  napkin,  or 
try  any  sword-swallowin'  stunt. 

1  'Now,  what's  it  all  about?"  says  I,  as  we 
gets  to  the  pastry  and  demitasse. 

"Well,"  says  Killam,  after  glancin'  around 
sleuthy  and  seem'  nobody  more  suspicious 
than  a  yawnin'  'bus  boy,  "I  have  found  the 
lost  treasure  of  Jose  Gaspar." 

"Have  you?"  says  I,  through  a  mouthful  of 
strawb'ry  shortcake.  "When  did  he  lose  it?" 

"Haven't  you  ever  read,"  says  he,  "of 
Gasparilla?" 

"Is  it  a  new  drink,  or  what?"  says  I. 

"No,  no,"  says  he.  "Gasparilla,  the  great 
pirate,  once  the  terror  of  the  Spanish  Main. 
Surely  you  must  have  read  about  him. ' ' 

"Nope,"  says  I.  "That  Nick  Carter  junk 
never  got  to  me  very  strong." 

The  Cap.  stares  at  me  sort  of  surprised  and 
pained. 

"But  this  isn't  a  dime-novel  story  I  am 
telling,"  he  protests.  "Jose  Gaspar  was  a  real 
person — just  as  real  as  George  Washington  or 
John  Paul  Jones.  He  was  a  genuine  pirate, 
too,  and  the  fact  that  he  had  his  headquarters 


REPORTING  BLANK  ON  RUPERT  147 

on  the  west  coast  of  Florida  is  well  established. 
It's  history.  And  it  is  also  true  that  he  buried 
much  of  his  stolen  treasure — gold  and  jewelry 
and  precious  stones — on  some  one  of  those 
thousands  of  sandy  keys  which  line  the 
Gulf  coast  from  Anclote  Light  to  White  Water 
Bay.  For  nearly  two  hundred  years  men  have 
hunted  for  that  treasure.  Why  even  the  United 
States  Government  once  sent  out  an  expedition 
to  find  it.  But  I,  Rupert  Killam,  have  at  last 
discovered  the  true  hiding  place  of  that  secret 
hoard." 

Can  you  beat  that  for  a  batty  conversation 
to  be  handed  across  the  table,  right  on  Broad- 
way at  high  noon?  But  say,  take  it  from  me, 
this  Rupert  party  is  some  convincin'  spieler. 
With  that  low,  smooth  voice  of  his,  and  them 
buttermilk  blue  eyes  fixed  steady  and  earnest 
on  mine,  I  was  all  but  under  the  spell  for  a 
minute  or  so  there.  Then  I  shakes  myself  and 
gets  back  to  normal. 

"Say,"  says  I,  "you  ain't  lookin*  to  put 
any  such  fancy  tale  as  that  over  on  Mr.  Robert, 
are  you?" 

"I  hope  I  can  interest  him  in  the  enterprise," 
says  Killam. 

"Well,  take  my  advice  and  don't  waste  your 
time,"  says  I.  "He's  a  good  deal  of  a  sport 
and  all  that,  but  I  don't  think  he'd  fall  for 


148  WILT  THOU  TOECHY 

anything  so  musty  as  this  old  doubloon  and 
pieces-of -eight  dope." 

"I  have  proofs,"  says  Bupert,  " absolute 
proofs." 

"Got  the  regulation  old  chart,  eh,"  says  I, 
"with  the  lone  tree  marked  by  a  dagger?" 

No,  he  didn't  have  a  chart.  He  went  on  to 
say  how  the  treasure  was  buried  on  a  certain 
little  island  under  a  mound  in  the  middle  of  a 
mangrove  swamp.  H^e'd  been  there.  He'd 
actually  helped  dig  into  one  corner  of  the 
mound.  He  had  four  pieces  of  jewelry  that 
he'd  taken  out  himself;  and  nobody  knew  how 
many  chests  full  was  left. 

"Back  up!"  says  I.  "Why  didn't  you  go 
on  diggin'?" 

But  he's  right  there  with  a  perfectly  good 
alibi.  Seems,  if  he  dug  up  anything  valuable 
and  got  caught  at  it,  he'd  have  to  whack  up  a 
percentage  with  the  owner  of  the  land.  Also, 
the  government  would  holler  for  a  share.  So 
his  plan  is  to  keep  mum,  buy  up  the  island,  then 
charter  a  big  yacht  and  cruise  down  there 
casually,  disguised  as  a  tourist.  Once  at  the 
island,  he  could  let  on  to  break  a  propeller 
shaft  or  something,  and  sneak  ashore  after  the 
gold  and  stuff  at  night  when  the  crew  was 
asleep. 

The  Cap.  explains  that  to  do  it  right  would 


REPORTING  BLANK  ON  RUPERT    149 

take  more  cash  than  he  could  raise.  Hence  his 
proposition  for  lettin'  in  Mr.  Robert  to  finance 
the  expedition.  No,  he  didn't  know  Mr.  Robert 
personally,  but  he'd  heard  a  lot  about  him  in 
one  way  or  another,  and  understood  he  was 
generally  willin'  to  take  a  chance. 

1  i Maybe  you're  right,"  says  I.  "Anyway, 
he  shouldn't  miss  hearin'  this  lovely  yarn  of 
yours.  You  come  back  with  me  and  I'll  see  if 
I  can't  fix  it  durin'  the  afternoon.  Let's  see, 
what  did  you  say  the  name  of  this  island  was?" 

"I  didn't  say,"  says  Rupert.  "I  can  tell 
you  the  old  Spanish  name,  however,  which  no 
one  on  the  west  coast  seems  to  know.  It  is 
Nunca,  Secos  Key — meaning  the  key  that  is 
never  dry." 

"Huh!"  says  I.  "That  listens  better  in 
Spanish.  Better  not  translate  if  you  want  to 
make  a  hit." 

"I  am  merely  stating  the  facts  as  they  are," 
says  Rupert. 

He 's  a  serious-minded  gink,  and  all  frivolous 
cracks  are  lost  on  him  completely.  He's  a 
patient  waiter,  too.  He  sticks  around  for  over 
two  hours  without  gettin'  restless,  until  finally 
Mr.  Robert  blows  in  from  the  club.  First 
chance  I  gets,  I  springs  Rupert  on  him. 

"A  guy  with  a  great  little  scheme,"  says 
I,  winkin*.  "If  you  can  spare  ten  minutes 


150  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

he'll  tell  you  something  worth  while,  so  he 
says." 

"Very  well,"  says  Mr.  Eobert.  "But  ten 
minutes  must  be  the  limit." 

Say,  it  was  rich,  too,  watchin'  Mr.  Robert's 
face  as  he  listens  to  this  weird  tale  of  pirates 
and  buried  gold.  First  off  he  was  tryin'  to  be 
polite,  and  only  smiled  sarcastic;  but  when 
Rupert  gets  to  spreadin'  on  the  romance,  Mr. 
Robert  starts  drummin'  his  fingers  on  the  desk 
and  glancin*  at  his  watch. 

Right  in  the  midst  of  the  recital,  too,  Old 
Hickory  drifts  out  of  his  private  office,  and 
stands  waitin*  with  his  ear  cocked.  He  has  a 
report  or  something  he  wants  to  ask  a  question 
about,  and  I  was  lookin'  every  minute  to  see 
him  crash  right  in.  But  Rupert  is  in  high  gear, 
and  goin'  stronger  all  the  while;  so  Mr.  Ellins 
just  stands  there  and  listens.  The  Cap.  had 
got  to  the  part  where  he  describes  this  mys- 
terious island  with  the  mound  in  the  middle, 
when  Mr.  Robert  shrugs  his  shoulders  im- 
patient. 

"My  good  fellow,"  says  he,  "whatever  gave 
you  the  notion  I  would  be  interested  in  such 
rubbish?  Sorry,  but  your  time  is  up.  Torchy, 
will  you  show  Mr. — er — what's-his-name  to  the 
elevator!" 

Which  I  did  as  comfortin'  as  I  knew  how. 


REPORTING  BLANK  ON  RUPERT    151 

Course,  he's  feelin'  some  hurt  at  bein'  choked 
off  so  abrupt,  but  he  takes  it  calm  enough. 

"Oh,  well,"  says  he,  "perhaps  I  can  find 
someone  else  who  will  appreciate  that  this  is 
the  opportunity  of  a  lifetime." 

"Sure  you  can,"  says  I.  "Broadway's  just 
lined  with  willin'  ears." 

I'd  loaded  him  into  an  elevator  and  was 
strollin'  through  the  waitin'-room,  when  Old 
Hickory  comes  paddin'  out  as  slinky  as  a  man 
of  his  weight  can. 

"Young  man,"  says  he,  "where  is  that  Cap- 
tain person?" 

"About  the  tenth  floor  by  now,  sir,"  says  I. 

"Bring  him  back,"  says  Mr.  Ellins,  sharp 
and  snappy.  "Through  the  private  entrance. 
Understand?" 

I  nods  and  makes  a  dive  into  an  upbound 
car  that's  just  makin'  a  stop  at  the  seventeenth. 
"Hey,  Jimmy,  reverse  her!  I'll  square  you 
with  the  starter.  That's  it.  Shoot  us  down." 

So,  when  Rupert  steps  out  on  the  ground 
floor,  I'm  there  to  take  him  by  the  arm  and 
lead  him  back  into  the  elevator. 

"Why — why,  what's  the  matter  now?"  he 
asks. 

"Couldn't  say,"  says  I.  "Only  you're 
wanted  again.  It's  the  Big  Boss  this  time — 
Old  Hickory  Ellins  himself.  And  lemme  put 


152  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

you  hep  to  this,  Cap'n;  if  that's  a  phony  tale 
you're  peddlin',  don't  try  it  on  him." 

"But  it's  all  true — every  word  of  it,"  insists 
Rupert. 

"Even  so,"  says  I,  "I  wouldn't  chance  it  on 
with  Old  Hickory.  He's  a  hard-headed  old 
plute,  and  that  romance  dope  is  likely  to  make 
him  froth  at  the  mouth.  If  he  starts  in  givin' 
you  the  third  degree,  or  anything  like  that, 
you'd  better  close  up  like  a  clam.  Here  we  are, 
and  for  the  love  of  Pete  draw  it  mild." 

You  see,  I  hadn't  minded  passin'  on  a  freak 
to  Mr.  Robert,  for  he  often  gets  a  laugh  out  of 
'em.  But  Mr.  Ellins  is  different.  The  site  of  his 
bump  of  humor  is  a  dimple  at  the  base  of 
his  skull,  and  if  he  traces  up  the  fact  that  I'm 
the  one  who  turned  Rupert  and  his  pirate  yarn 
loose  in  the  general  offices  my  standin*  as  a 
discriminatin'  private  sec.  is  goin'  to  get  a  sad 
jolt. 

So  when  Cap'n  Killam  has  been  in  on  the 
carpet  near  an  hour,  with  no  signs  of  his  either 
havin'  been  let  out  or  fired  through  a  window, 
I  begins  to  get  nervous.  Once  Mr.  Robert 
starts  to  go  into  Old  Hickory's  sanctum;  but 
he  finds  the  door  locked,  and  shortly  after  that 
he  shuts  his  roll-top  and  leaves  for  the 
day. 

It's  near   closin'   time   when   Old  Hickory 


REPORTING  BLANK  ON  RUPERT    153 

opens  the  door  an  inch  or  two,  throws  a  scouty 
glance  around,  and  beckons  me  mysterious  to 
come  in.  Rupert  is  still  there  and  still  alive. 
In  fact,  he's  chokin'  over  one  of  Mr.  Ellins' 
fat  black  cigars,  but  otherwise  lookin'  fairly 
satisfied  with  himself. 

" Young  man,"  says  Old  Hickory,  "I  under- 
stand that  you  have  heard  some  of  Captain 
Killam's  story." 

"EM"  says  I,  careless  like.  "Oh,  yes;  I 
believe  he  did  feed  a  little  of  that  tale  to  me, 
but—" 

"You  will  kindly  forget  to  mention  it  about 
the  office,"  he  cuts  in. 

"Yes,  sir,"  says  I.  "That'll  be  the  easiest 
thing  I  do.  At  the  time  it  sounded  mighty — " 

"Never  mind  how  it  sounded  to  you,"  says 
he.  "Your  enthusiasms  are  easily  aroused. 
Mine  kindle  somewhat  more  slowly,  but  when — 
Well,  no  need  to  discuss  that,  either.  What 
I  want  you  to  do  is  to  take  Captain  Killam  to 
some  quiet  little  hotel — the  Tillington,  for  in- 
stance— and  engage  a  comfortable  room  for 
him;  a  room  and  bath,  perhaps." 

"Ye-es,  sir,"  I  gasps  out. 

"In  the  morning,"  he  goes  on,  "you  will 
call  for  the  Captain  about  nine  o'clock.  If 
he  has  with  him  at  that  time  certain  odd  pieces 
of  antique  jewelry,  you  may  report  over  the 


154  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

'phone  to  me  and  I  will  tell  you  what  to  do 
next. ' ' 

I  expect  I  was  gawpin'  some,  and  starin' 
from  one  to  the  other  of  'em,  for  Mr.  Ellins 
scowls  and  clears  his  throat  menacin'. 

"Well?"  he  growls. 

"I  was  just  lettin'  it  sink  in,  sir,"  says  I. 

"Humph!"  he  snorts.  "If  it  will  help  the 
process  any,  I  may  say  that  I  am  considering 
the  possibility  of  going  on  a  cruise  South  with 
Captain  Killam — for  my  health. ' ' 

At  which  Old  Hickory  drops  his  left  eyelid 
and  indulges  in  what  passes  with  him  for  a 
chuckle. 

That's  my  cue  to  grin  knowin',  after  which 
I  gets  my  hat  and  starts  off  with  Rupert.  We  'd 
only  got  into  the  corridor  when  Old  Hickory 
calls  me  back,  wavin'  a  twenty. 

"Pay  for  two  days  in  advance,"  says  he, 
and  then  adds  in  a  whisper:  "Keep  close  track 
of  him.  See  that  he  doesn't  get  away,  or  talk 
too  much." 

"Yes,  sir,"  says  I.  "Gag  and  bind,  if  neces- 
sary. ' ' 

But  there  don't  seem  to  be  much  need  of 
even  warnin'  Rupert.  He  hardly  opens  his 
mouth  on  the  way  up  to  the  hotel,  but  trails 
along  silent,  his  eyes  fixed  starey,  like  he  was 
thinkin'  deep. 


REPORTING  BLANK  ON  RUPERT  155 

"Well,"  says  I,  after  a  bell-hop  had  shown 
us  into  one  of  the  Tillington's  air-shaft  rooms 
and  gone  for  ten  cents'  worth  of  ice  water, 
"it  looks  like  you  had  the  Big  Boss  almost 
buffaloed  with  that  pirate  tale  of  yours." 

Rupert  don't  enthuse  much  at  that. 

"As  a  cautious  business  man,"  says  he,  "I 
suppose  Mr.  Ellins  is  quite  right  in  moving 
slowly.  He  wants  to  see  the  jewelry,  and  he 
wishes  time  to  investigate.  Still,  it  seems  to 
me  that  my  story  ought  to  speak  for  itself." 

"That's  the  line,"  says  I.  "Stick  to  that. 
But  I  wouldn't  chatter  about  it  to  strangers." 

Rupert  smiles  indulgent. 

"Thank  you,"  says  he.  "You  need  not  fear. 
I  have  kept  my  secret  for  three  years — and  I 
still  hold  it." 

He's  a  dramatic  cuss,  Rupert.  I  leaves  him 
posin'  in  front  of  the  mirror  on  the  bathroom 
door,  gazin'  sort  of  romantic  at  himself. 

"Not  a  common,  everyday  nut,"  as  I  ex- 
plains to  Vee  that  night,  when  I  goes  up  for 
my  reg'lar  Wednesday  evenin'  call,  "but  a 
nut,  all  the  same.  Sort  of  a  parlor  pirate, 
too." 

"And  you  think  there  isn't  any  buried 
treasure,  after  all?"  asks  Vee. 

"Don't  it  sound  simple?"  I  demands. 

"I'm  not  so  sure,"  says  Vee,  shakin'  her 


156  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

head.  "There  w'ere  pirates  on  the  Florida 
coast,  you  know.  I've  read  about  them.  And 
— and  just  fancy,  Torchy!  If  his  story  were 
really  true!" 

"What  was  the  name  of  that  island,  again?" 
puts  in  Auntie. 

Honest,  I  hadn't  thought  she  was  takin' 
notice  at  all  when  I  was  givin'  Vee  a  full  ac- 
count of  my  afternoon  session  with  Rupert. 
She  never  does  chime  in  much  with  our  talk. 
And  I  judged  she  was  too  busy  with  her 
sweater-knittin'  to  hear  a  word.  But  here  she 
is,  a  skin'  details. 

"Why,"  says  I,  "Captain  Killam  calls  it 
Nunca  Secos  Key." 

"What  an  odd  name!"  says  Auntie.  "And 
you  left  him  at  some  hotel,  did  you?  The— 
er— " 

"Tillington,"  says  I. 

"Oh,  yes,"  says  Auntie,  and  resumes  her 
knittin'  placid. 

Course,  there  I  was,  gassin'  away  merry 
about  what  Old  Hickory  wanted  kept  a  dead 
secret.  But  I  usually  do  tell  things  to  Vee. 
She  ain't  one  of  the  leaky  kind.  And  Auntie 
don't  go  out  much.  Besides,  who'd  think  of 
an  old  girl  like  that  ever  bein'  interested  in 
such  wild  back-number  stuff?  How  foolish! 

So  I  wasn't  worryin'  any  that  night,  and  at 


REPORTING  BLANK  ON  RUPERT    157 

quarter  of  nine  next  mornin'  I  shows  up  at 
the  hotel  to  send  up  a  call  for  Rupert. 

'  *  Captain  Killam  ? ' '  says  the  room  clerk  with 
the  plastered  front  hair.  "Why,  he  left  an 
hour  or  more  ago.'* 

"Yes,  I  know,"  says  I;  "but  he  was  coming 
back." 

"No,"  says  the  clerk;  "he  said  he  wasn't. 
Took  his  bag,  too." 

"Wha-a-at!"  I  gasps.  "He — he  ain't  gone 
for  good,  has  he?" 

"So  it  seems,"  says  the  clerk,  and  steps  back 
to  continue  his  chat  with  the  snub-nosed  young 
lady  at  the  'phone  exchange. 

How  was  that  for  an  early-mornin '  bump? 
What  was  the  idea,  anyway?  Rupert  had 
found  a  prospective  backer,  hadn't  he?  And 
was  bein'  taken  care  of.  What  more  could  he 
ask?  Unless — unless  someone  else  had  got  next 
to  him.  But  who  could  have  heard  of  this — 

"Gee!"  I  groans.    "I  wonder?" 

I  couldn't  stand  there  starin'  foolish  across 
the  register  and  do  the  wonderin'  act  all  day, 
though.  Besides,  I  wanted  to  follow  a  clew. 
It  ain't  a  very  likely  one,  but  it's  better 'n 
nothing.  So  I  slides  out  and  boards  a  Columbus 
Avenue  surface  car,  and  inside  of  twenty 
minutes  I'm  at  Auntie's  apartments,  inter- 
viewin'  Helma,  her  original  bonehead  maid. 


158  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

No,  Miss  Verona  wasn't  at  home.  She'd 
gone  for  her  morning  ride  in  the  park.  Also 
Auntie  was  out. 

"So  early  as  this?"  says  I.  "When  did 
Auntie  get  away?" 

"Before  breakfast  yet,"  says  Helma.  "She 
telephone  long  time,  then  a  gentlemans  coom, 
and  she  go  out." 

"Not  a  gent  with  pale  hair  and  plenty  of 
freckles  on  his  face?"  I  asks. 

Helma  gazes  thoughtless  at  the  ceilin'  a 
minute. 

"Yah,"  says  she.  "Den  have  funny  face, 
all — all  rusty." 

"The  sleuthy  old  kidnapper!"  says  I. 
"Could  she  have  pulled  anything  like  that? 
Here,  lemme  step  in  and  leave  a  note  for  Miss 
Vee.  I  want  her  to  call  me  up  when  she  comes 
in.  No,  I'll  dash  it  off  right  here  on  the  lib'ry 
table.  Here's  a  pad  and— 

I  broke  off  there,  because  my  mouth  was  open 
too  wide  for  further  remarks.  On  the  table 
was  a  big  atlas  opened  to  the  map  of  Florida. 
And  on  the  margin,  with  a  line  drawn  from 
about  the  middle  of  the  west  coast,  was  some- 
thing written  faint  in  pencil. 

'  *  Nunca  Secos  Key ! "  I  reads.  ' '  Good  night ! 
Auntie's  got  the  bug — and  Rupert." 

"Vass  it  is?"  asks  Helma. 


REPORTING  BLANK  ON  RUPERT  159 

"I'm  double-crossed,  that's  what  it  is,"  says 
I.  "I've  had  a  nice  long  nap  at  the  switch, 
and  I've  just  woke  up  in  time  to  see  the  fast 
express  crash  on  towards  an  open  draw.  Hal- 
lup!  Hal-lup!  I  know  I'll  never  be  the  same 
again." 

"It's  too  bad,  yah,"  says  Helma  sympathetic. 

"That  don't  half  describe  it,"  says  I.  "And 
what  is  goin'  to  happen  when  I  report  to  Old 
Hickory  won't  be  nice  to  print  in  the  papers." 

"Should  I  say  something  by  Miss  Vee  when 
she  coomf"  asks  Helma. 

"Yes,"  says  I.  "Tell  her  to  kindly  omit 
flowers." 

And  with  that  I  starts  draggy  towards  the 
elevator. 

Oh,  no!  Private  seccing  ain't  always  what 
you  might  call  a  slumber  part. 


CHAPTER  X 

WHEN   AUNTIE   CEASHES   IN 

You  know  Forty-seventh  Street  and  Broad- 
way, the  northwest  corner?  Say,  would  you 
judge  there  was  a  specially  foolish  streak  run- 
nin'  across  town  about  there?  No,  I  don't  see 
why  there  should  be ;  only  it  was  exactly  on  that 
spot  I  was  struck  by  the  hunch  that  this  kid- 
nappin'  act  of  Auntie's  was  a  joke. 

Now,  look.  A  freckle-faced  parlor  pirate 
with  no  more  credentials  than  a  park  pan- 
handler blows  in  from  nowhere  particular,  and 
tells  a  wild  yarn  about  buried  treasure  on  the 
west  cost  of  Florida.  First  off  he  gets  Old 
Hickory  Ellins,  president  of  the  Corrugated 
Trust  and  generally  a  cagey  old  boy,  more  or 
less  worked  up.  Mr.  Ellins  turns  him  over  to 
me,  with  orders  to  watch  him  close  while  he's 
investigatin'  the  tale.  Then,  when  I'm  gabbin' 
free  and  careless  about  it  to  Vee,  her  Auntie 
sits  there  with  her  ear  stretched.  She  wants 
to  know  what  hotel  I've  left  the  Captain  at. 
And  the  next  mornin'  he's  gone.  Also  on  other 
counts  the  arrow  points  to  Auntie. 

160 


WHEN  AUNTIE  CRASHES  IN     161 

There  I  was,  too,  on  my  way  back  to  Old 
Hickory,  figurin'  whether  I'd  better  resign  first 
and  report  afterwards,  or  just  take  my  chances 
that  maybe  after  he'd  slept  on  it  he  wouldn't 
be  so  keen  about  seein'  this  Captain  Killam 
again.  Then  the  whole  thing  hit  me  on  the 
funnybone.  Haw-haw!  Auntie,  the  sober  old 
girl  with  the  mixed-pickle  disposition,  suddenly 
comin'  to  life  and  pinchin'  Old  Hickory's  find 
while  he's  tryin'  to  make  up  his  mind  whether 
it 's  phony  or  not.  Auntie,  of  all  people !  More 
hearty  haw-haws. 

When  I  finally  does  drift  into  Old  Hickory's 
private  office  and  he  motions  me  to  shut  the 
door,  I'm  still  registerin'  merry  thoughts. 

i 'Well I"  says  he,  snappin'  it  out  crisp. 

"You'd  never  guess,"  says  I,  smotherin'  a 
chuckle. 

"Eh?"  says  he,  shootin'  a  puzzled  glance  at 
me  from  under  them  overhangin'  eyebrows  of 
his.  "Who  wants  to  guess?  What  about  Cap- 
tain Killam  ?" 

"That's  just  it,"  says  I.    "He's  flitted." 

"Wha-a-at!"  snorts  Old  Hickory.  "You 
don't  mean  he  has  gone?" 

'  *  Uh-huh ! ' '  says  I.  ' '  Been  lured  away.  But 
say," — here  I  indulges  in  my  most  comic  open- 
face  movement, — "who  do  you  suppose  did  the 
trick  on  us!" 


162  WILT  THOU  TOECHY 

Old  Hickory  stares  at  me  and  waves  his  cigar 
impatient.  "Go  on,"  lie  growls. 

"You  know  Miss  Vee's  aunt,"  says  I,  "Mrs. 
Cornelia  Hemmingway?  Well,  she's  got  him. 
Yep !  Just  naturally  kidnapped  him,  I  expect. 
I  had  my  suspicions  of  her  the  minute  I  found 
the  Captain  was  gone.  So  I  chases  right  up 
there.  She's  out.  The  maid  admits  she  went 
away  with  a  party  answerin'  Killam's  descrip- 
tion. I  wouldn't  have  been  sure,  though,  if  I 
hadn't  found  a  map  of  Florida  on  the  lib'ry 
table  and  Nunca  Secos  Key  marked  on  it.  Now, 
what  do  you  know  about  that?  Auntie!  Ain't 
that  rich?" 

No  hilarity  from  Old  Hickory — not  even  one 
of  them  cracked  concrete  smiles  of  his.  He 
just  sits  there  glarin'  at  me,  missin'  the  com- 
edy cue  altogether. 

"Young  man,"  says  he,  "just  a  moment  be- 
fore we  get  any  further  off  the  track.  How  did 
Mrs.  Hemmingway  happen  to  learn  about  Cap- 
tain Killam?" 

"Why,"  says  I,  "she  had  her  ear  out  while 
I  was  tellin'  Miss  Vee.  Would  you  believe, 
though,  that  an  old  girl  like  her — " 

"I  would,"  says  he.  "Humorous  as  it  may 
seem  to  you,  I  should  credit  almost  anyone 
with  wanting  to  dig  up  several  million  dollars, 
if  they  could  find  where  it  was  hidden." 


WHEN  AUNTIE  CRASHES  IN     163 

"Bui— "  I  begins. 

''Besides  Miss  Verona  and  her  aunt,"  goes 
on  Old  Hickory,  "how  many  others  have  you 
made  acquainted  with  what  I  was  doing  my 
best  to  keep  a  secret?" 

"Not  a  soul,"  says  I.    "Honest!" 

"Temporary  paralysis  of  the  tongue,  eh!" 
he  asks.  "It's  a  wonder  you  didn't  have  it 
published  in  the  morning  papers.  Quite 
thoughtless  of  you.  Hah!" 

And  say ;  next  time  I  think  I  have  a  joke  for 
Old  Hickory  I'll  go  down  to  Thirty- third 
Street  and  try  it  first  on  the  statue  of  Horace 
Greeley.  If  he  rocks  back  and  forth  in  his 
bronze  chair  and  lifts  the  roof  off  the  L  station 
above,  I'll  know  it  may  do  to  pass  on  to  Mr. 
Ellins.  Yep!  That's  just  the  way  I  feel  about  it. 

"I  expect  I'm  released  on  this  case,  then!" 
says  I,  after  w^aitin'  while  Old  Hickory  chews 
his  cigar  savage  for  a  couple  of  minutes. 

"No,"  he  snaps  out.  "You've  succeeded  in 
losing  Captain  Killam;  now  you'll  help  find 
him  again.  I'll  go  with  you  this  time.  Come." 

Seemed  too  simple  for  words  at  first,  me  and 
Mr.  Ellins  startin'  out  to  hunt  New  York  for 
a  batty  stranger  in  a  blue  flannel  shirt.  By 
degrees,  though,  I  got  the  idea.  It's  the  com- 
petition that  has  stirred  him  up.  Likely 
enough,  he'd  have  turned  Rupert  and  his 


164  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

scheme  down  cold  if  it  hadn't  been  for  that. 
But  when  Auntie  crashes  in,  the  case  is  entirely 
different;  then  he's  strong  for  it.  Settin'  that 
time-lock  jaw  of  his  and  lightin'  a  fresh  per- 
fecto,  Old  Hickory  grabs  his  hat;  and  off  we 
go,  with  me  trailin'  along  reluctant.  His  first 
move  is  to  hail  a  taxi. 

1  'Just  goin'  to  cruise  around  town  casual  in 
the  hopes  of  spottin'  him  on  the  fly,  eh?"  I 
asks. 

" Hardly,"  says  Mr.  Ellins.  "I'm  not  going 
to  stand  in  the  middle  of  Broadway  and  whistle 
for  him  either,  or  throw  out  a  hook  and  line 
and  troll.  I  think  we  will  go  first  to  Mrs.  Hem- 
mingway's,  if  you  will  kindly  give  the  driver 
the  number." 

He  can  be  more  brutally  polite  than  anyone 
I  ever  saw.  I  wasn't  enjoyin'  that  ride  so 
much,  and  it 's  a  relief  when  we  pulls  up  at  the 
curb.  I  offers  to  run  in  and  see  if  Auntie  is 
back  yet,  but  he  won't  have  it. 

"Just  lead  the  way,  that's  all,"  says  he. 

"Oh,  very  well,"  says  I. 

And  when  Helma,  the  maid,  has  used  up  all 
her  hyphenated  English  in  assurin'  us  that 
"Meesus"  is  still  out,  I  rubs  it  in  by  shrug- 
gin'  my  shoulders  and  glancin'  knowin'  at 
him. 

"Mees  Verona,  she  coom,"  suggests  Helma. 


WHEN  AUNTIE  CRASHES  IN     165 

' '  Good ! '  >  says  I.  * '  I  'd  like  a  word  with  her, 
anyway. ' ' 

Having  just  finished  her  canter  in  the  park, 
Vee  is  still  in  her  riding  togs;  and,  take  it 
from  me,  that's  some  snappy  costume  of  hers. 
Maybe  she  ain't  easy  to  look  at,  too,  as  she 
floats  in  with  the  pink  in  her  cheeks  and  her 
eyes  sparklin'.  Wish  I  could  fit  into  a  frock- 
coat  like  that,  or  wear  such  shiny  little  boots. 
Even  Old  Hickory  cheers  up  a  bit  at  sight  of 
her. 

"Why,  Torchy!"  says  she,  holdin'  out  her 
hand.  "And  Mr.  Ellins!" 

"Morning  calls  right  along  for  me,  after 
this,"  says  I,  sort  of  walkin'  around  her.  "It's 
worth  while." 

"Old  thing!"  says  she.  "Don't  be  silly.  But 
what  is  the  matter?" 

I  glances  at  Mr.  Ellins.  "Shall  I  tell?" 
says  I. 

"As  that  seems  to  be  your  specialty,"  says 
he,  "perhaps  you  had  better." 

"Yes,  sir;  thank  you,  sir,"  says  I,  salutin'. 

Then  I  turns  to  Vee.  "Seen  Auntie  this 
morning?"  I  asks. 

"Why,  no,"  says  Vee.  "I  was  up  rather 
early,  you  know." 

"Not  so  early  as  she  was,"  says  I.  "What 
do  you  think  she's  done?  Jumped  in  on  that 


166  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

treasure  hunt  I  was  tellin'  you  of.  She's 
pinched  Kupert,  and  by  now  maybe  they're  on 
their  way  South." 

Vee  stares  at  me  for  a  second,  and  then 
gives  one  of  them  ripply  laughs. 

"How  crazy  of  you  to  think  such  a  thing!'* 
says  she. 

"Here's  the  evidence  in  the  case,"  says  I, 
pointin'  to  the  map  with  the  scribblin'  on  the 
side.  "That's  her  writin',  ain't  it?  And  you 
remember  her  wakin*  up  and  askin'  questions, 
don't  you?" 

"Ye-e-es,"  admits  Vee;  "but  I'm  sure  she 
hasn't—" 

"She  and  the  Captain  are  missing,"  says  I. 
"That's  what  comes  of  my  gettin'  chatty  about 
business  affairs.  I  didn't  dream,  though,  that 
Auntie  was  such  a  plunger." 

"I  can't  believe  it,"  says  Vee.  "There's 
been  some  ridiculous  mistake.  But  I  can't 
imagine  where  she  could  have  gone  so 
early." 

"Couldn't  have  had  time  to  pack  a  trunk, 
could  she?"  I  asks.  "If  not,  she'd  be  coming 
back  some  time  to-day.  Shall  we  wait  here  a 
while,  Mr.  Ellins?" 

"I  think  I  prefer  a  meeting  on  neutral 
grounds,"  says  he. 

So  we  goes  downstairs  and  paces  up  and 


WHEN  AUNTIE  CRASHES  IN     167 

down  the  sidewalk,  watchin'  the  avenue  traffic 
sleuthy. 

"Course  she  wouldn't  start  off  without  bag- 
gage," I  suggests. 

"I'm  not  so  certain,"  growls  Old  Hickory. 

Ten  minutes  we  waited — fifteen;  and  then  I 
spots  a  yellow  taxi  rollin'  up  from  downtown. 
Inside  I  gets  a  glimpse  of  a  black  straw  lid 
with  purple  flowers  on  it. 

"Here  she  comes!"  I  sings  out  to  Old 
Hickory.  "Yep,  that's  her!  And  say!  The 
Captain's  with  her.  Quick!  Dive  into  our 
cab." 

He 's  a  little  heavy  on  his  feet,  Mr.  Ellins  is, 
and  someway  he  manages  to  get  himself  hung 
up  on  the  cab  door.  Anyway,  Auntie  must  have 
seen  us  doin'  the  wild  scramble,  and  got  sus- 
picious; for,  just  as  they  got  alongside,  she 
pounds  on  the  front  window,  shouts  something 
at  the  driver,  and  instead  of  stoppin'  the  other 
taxi  veers  oft  and  goes  smokin'  uptown. 

"Hey!"  yells  Mr.  Ellins  to  our  driver. 
"Catch  that  yellow  car!  Ten  dollars  if  you 
catch  it." 

And  you  know  it's  just  the  chance  of  hearin' 
a  few  kind  words  like  them  that  these  taxi 
pirates  live  for.  This  old  coffee  mill  that  Mr. 
Ellins  had  hailed  reckless  could  give  out  more 
groans  and  grinds  and  produce  less  speed  than 


168  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

any  other  fare  trap  I  was  ever  in.  The  con- 
nectin'  rods  was  wabbly  on  the  shaft,  the  gears 
complained  scandalous,  and  the  hit-and-miss 
average  of  the  cylinders  was  about  33  per  cent. 

But  after  a  few  preliminary  jack-rabbit  jumps 
she  begun  to  get  headway,  and  the  next  I  knew 
our  driver  was  leanin'  over  his  wheel  like  he 
was  after  the  Vanderbilt  Cup.  He  must  have 
been  throwin'  all  his  weight  on  the  juice  button 
and  slippin'  his  clutch  judiciors,  for  we  sure 
was  breezin'  some.  Inside  of  two  blocks  we'd 
eaten  up  half  the  lead  and  was  tearin'  uptown 
like  a  battalion  chief  answerin'  a  third  alarm. 
I  glances  at  Old  Hickory  to  see  if  he's  gettin' 
nervous  at  some  of  the  close  shaves;  but  he's 
braced  himself  in  one  corner,  his  teeth  sunk 
deep  into  his  cigar  and  his  eyes  glued  on  that 
yellow  taxi  ahead. 

They  was  wise  to  the  fact  that  we  was  after 
?em,  too.  First  Auntie  would  rubber  back  at 
us,  and  then  lean  forward  to  prod  up  her 
chauffeur.  A  couple  of  rare  old  sports,  them 
two,  with  no  more  worries  for  what  might  hap- 
pen to  their  necks  than  if  they'd  been  joy- 
riders speedin'  home  at  3  A.M.  from  the  Pink 
Lady  Inn. 

Me,  I  was  holdin'  my  breath  and  waitin'  for 
the  grand  smash.  If  Auntie 's  driver  had  stuck 
to  a  straightaway  run  we'd  either  caught  'em 


or  smeared  ourselves  against  a  beer  truck  or 
something.  But  after  the  first  mile  he  takes  to 
dodgin'.  Zip!  he  goes  on  two  wheels  around 
a  corner. 

"After  him  now!"  orders  Old  Hickory. 
"I'll  make  it  twenty  if  you  don't  let  him  get 
away. ' ' 

"You're  on!"  says  our  speed  maniac,  and 
does  a  carom  skid  into  a  cross  street  that 
showed  he  didn't  need  any  banked  turns  in  his. 

In  and  out  we  goes,  east  and  west  and  up  and 
down;  now  losin*  sight  of  the  yellow  taxi  alto- 
gether, then  pickin'  it  up  again;  droppin'  be- 
hind a  whole  block  when  the  traffic  broke  bad 
for  us,  but  makin'  it  up  when  something  got 
in  the  way  of  the  other  cab. 

Our  gears  was  hummin'  a  reg'lar  tomcat 
chorus,  but  with  the  throttle  wide  open  the 
motor  was  hittin'  on  four  most  of  the  time. 

Talk  about  your  chariot  race!  Say,  if  we'd 
had  Ben  Hur  aboard  he'd  been  down  on  the 
floor,  clawin'  the  mat.  Twice  we  scraped  fend- 
ers with  passin'  cars,  and  you  could  have 
traced  every  turn  we  made  by  the  wheel  paint 
we  left  on  the  curb  corners.  It  was  a  game 
of  gasoline  cross-tag.  We  wasn't  merely  roll- 
in';  we  was  one-steppin',  fox-trottin',  with  a 
few  Loupovka  motions  thrown  in  for  variety. 
And,  at  that,  Auntie  was  holdin'  the  lead. 


170  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

Down  at  Fifty-ninth,  what  does  her  driver  do 
but  swing  into  Fifth  Avenue,  right  in  the  thick 
of  it.  That  was  no  bonehead  play  either,  for 
if  there 's  any  one  stretch  in  town  where  you 
can  let  out  absolutely  reckless  and  get  a  medal 
for  it,  that's  the  place.  Course,  you  got  to  take 
it  in  short  spurts  when  you  get  the  "go"  sig- 
nal, and  that's  what  he  was  doin'.  I  watched 
him  wipe  both  ends  of  a  green  motor  bus  and 
squeeze  into  a  space  that  didn't  look  big 
enough  for  a  baby  carriage. 

"Auntie  must  be  biddin'  up  on  the  results, 
too,"  I  remarks  to  Mr.  Ellins.  "There  they 
duck  through  Forty- third. " 

"Try  Forty-fourth,"  sings  out  Old  Hickory. 
"In  here!" 

It  was  a  poor  guess,  for  when  we  hits  Sixth 
Avenue  there's  no  yellow  taxi  in  sight. 

"Wouldn't  Auntie's  game  be  to  double  back 
home?"  I  suggests. 

"We'll  see,"  says  Old  Hickory,  and  gives 
the  order  to  beat  it  uptown  again. 

And,  sure  enough,  just  as  we  gets  in  sight 
of  the  apartment  house,  there's  the  other  taxi, 
with  Auntie  haulm '  Captain  Killam  out  hasty. 
Before  we  can  dash  up  and  pile  out,  they've 
disappeared  in  the  vestibule. 

"Looks  like  we'd  lost  out  by  a  nose,"  says  I. 


WHEN  AUNTIE  CRASHES  IN     171 

"Not  yet,"  says  Old  Hickory.  '  "I  intend  to 
see  what  those  two  mean  by  this." 

And  after  'em  we  rushes. 

But  the  one  elevator  was  half  way  up  when 
we  fetches  the  gate.  Old  Hickory  puts  his 
finger  on  the  button  and  holds  it  there. 

"They've  stopped  at  the  fourth,"  says  I. 
"Now  it'll  be  comin' —  No;  it's  goin'  all  the 
way  to  the  roof!" 

There  it  stayed,  too,  although  Old  Hickory 
shoots  some  spicy  commands  up  the  elevator 
well. 

"  No  use ;  he 's  been  bought, ' '  says  I.  '  *  What 's 
the  matter  with  the  stairs  f  Only  three  flights. ' ' 

"Good  idea!"  says  Mr.  Ellins;  and  up  we 
starts. 

He  wouldn't  break  any  stair-climbin'  records 
in  an  amateur  contest,  though,  and  when  he  does 
puff  on  to  the  last  landin'  he's  purple  behind 
the  ears  and  ain't  got  breath  enough  left  to 
make  any  kind  of  speech.  So  I  tackles  another 
interview  with  Helma. 

"No,"  says  she;  "Meesus  not  coom  yet." 

"Ah,  ditch  the  perjury  stuff,  Helma,"  says 
I.  "Didn't  we  just  follow  her  in?" 

"No  coom  yet,"  insists  Helma  in  her  wooden 
way. 

That's  all  I  can  get  out  of  her,  too.  It 
wasn't  that  she'd  had  orders  to  say  Auntie 


172  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

wasn't  at  home,  or  didn't  care  to  receive  just 
then.  Helma  sticks  to  the  simple  statement 
that  Auntie  hasn't  come  back. 

"But  say,"  I  protests;  "we  just  trailed  her 
here.  Get  that!  We  was  right  on  her  heels 
when  she  struck  the  elevator.  And  the  Cap- 
tain was  with  her." 

"No  coom,"  says  Helma,  shakin'  her  head 
solemn. 

"Why,  you  she- Ananias,  you!"  I  gasps. 
"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that— 

"I  beg  pardon,"  says  a  familiar  acetic  acid 
voice  behind  us — and  I  turns  to  see  Auntie 
steppin'  out  of  the  elevator.  "Were  you  look- 
ing for  someone?"  she  goes  on. 

"You've  guessed  it,"  says  I.  "In  fact,  we 
was — " 

"Madam,"  breaks  in  Mr.  Ellins,  "will  you 
kindly  tell  me  what  you  have  done  with  Cap- 
tain Rupert  Killam?" 

"Certainly,  Mr.  Ellins,"  says  Auntie. 
"Won't  you  step  in?" 

"I  should  prefer  to  be  told  here,  at  once," 
says  Old  Hickory. 

"My  preference,"  comes  back  Auntie,  "if  I 
must  be  cross-examined,  is  to  undergo  the  proc- 
ess in  the  privacy  of  my  own  library,  not  in  a 
public  hallway." 

Well,  there  was  nothing  else  to  it.    We  could 


WHEN  AUNTIE  CRASHES  IN     173 

either  stay  out  there  and  stare  at  the  door,  or 
follow  her  in.  So  in  we  goes.  And  maybe 
Vee's  gray  eyes  don't  open  some  wide  as  she 
views  the  procession  streamin'  in.  She  glances 
at  me  inquirin'.  I  throws  up  both  hands  and 
shakes  my  head,  indicatin'  that  it  was  beyond 
words. 

"Now,"  says  Auntie,  liftin'  her  purple-dec- 
orated lid  off  one  ear  and  tuckin'  a  stray  lock 
into  her  back  hair,  "I  will  answer  your  ques- 
tion. I  have  just  sent  Captain  Killam  back  to 
his  hotel." 

"The  Illington?"  demands  Old  Hickory. 

"No,"  says  Auntie.  "It  was  my  fancy  that 
Captain  Killam  deserved  rather  better  quar- 
ters than  those  you  saw  fit  to  provide.  So  I 
found  others  for  him — just  where,  I  do  not  care 
to  say." 

"But  he  came  in  here  with  you  a  moment 
ago,"  insists  Old  Hickory.  "How  could  you — " 

"I'm  next!"  says  I.  "You  smuggles  him 
over  the  roof  and  down  the  elevator  in  the  next 
building.  Wasn't  that  how  you  gave  us  the 
slip?" 

Auntie  indulges  in  one  of  them  lemony,  tight- 
lipped  smiles  of  hers.  "You  have  exposed  my 
poor  strategy,"  says  she;  "but  a  little  late,  I 
trust." 

Mr.  Ellins  makes  her  a  bow. 


174  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

"Mrs.  Hemmingway, "  says  he,  "my  compli- 
ments on  your  cleverness  as  a  tactician.  But  I 
fail  to  see  how  you  justify  your  methods.  You 
knew  that  I  was  negotiating  with  Captain 
Killamt" 

"Oh,  yes,"  says  she. 

"And  in  spite  of  that,"  goes  on  Mr.  Ellins, 
"you  induce  him  to  break  his  word  to  me  and 
you  hide  him  in  another  hotel." 

"Something  like  that,"  admits  Auntie, 
squarin'  her  jaw.  "Why  not,  Mr.  Ellins?" 

"Why,  Auntie!"  gasps  Vee. 

"Verona!"  says  Auntie,  shootin'  over  a  re- 
provin'  look. 

"But  see  here,"  protests  Old  Hickory.  "I 
was  arranging  with  this  man  to  fit  out  a  treas- 
ure-hunting expedition.  He  had  made  a  verbal 
contract  with  me.  Just  because  you  over- 
heard my  plans,  you  had  no  right  to  take  ad- 
vantage. You  can't  do  that  sort  of  thing,  you 
know. ' ' 

"Oh,  can't  I?"  sneers  Auntie,  lookin'  him 
straight  in  the  eye.  "But  I  have,  you  see." 

And  that's  one  of  the  few  times  I  ever  saw 
Old  Hickory  Ellins  squirm  at  a  come-back.  He 
pinks  up  some,  too ;  but  he  keeps  a  grip  on  his 
temper. 

"Then  you — you  intend  financing  this  some- 
what doubtful  enterprise?"  he  asks.  "A  man 


you  know  nothing  about,  too.  Suppose  lie  never 
comes  back?" 

"I  shall  go  along  myself,"  says  Auntie. 

''Your'  says  Old  Hickory.  "To  dig  for 
buried  treasure!" 

"I  have  always  wanted  to  do  something  of 
the  kind, ' '  says  Auntie.  *  *  True,  I  may  not  look 
like  that  sort  of  a  person,  and  I  suppose  that 
I  do  lead  rather  a  dull,  commonplace  existence. 
Not  from  choice,  however.  Once  I  was  ship- 
wrecked in  the  Mediterranean,  and  I  found  it 
a  thrilling  experience.  Also  I  once  spent  nearly 
a  week  on  a  snow-bound  train  in  the  Eockies; 
I  would  not  have  missed  that  for  anything. 
And  if  Captain  Killam  can  lead  me  to  genuine 
adventures,  I  am  going  to  follow.  So  there  you 
have  it !  All  you  saw  in  his  story,  I  presume, 
was  a  chance  to  add  to  your  millions.  The  ro- 
mance of  the  thing,  the  mystery  of  that 
forgotten  little  island  with  its  long  hidden 
pirate  hoard,  never  appealed  to  you  in  the 
least." 

"Oh,  didn't  it!"  says  Old  Hickory. 

For  a  second  or  so  he  stares  over  her  head 
at  the  wall  beyond,  and  around  his  grim  mouth 
corners  come  softer  lines  than  I'd  ever  seen 
there  before.  Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  he  adds: 

"You'll  need  a  roomy,  light-draught  yacht." 

"We  were  just  going  to  look  for  one,"  says 


176  WILT  THOU  TOECHY 

Auntie.  "I  was  returning  for  my  checkbook 
when  you  interfered." 

"That  was  a  rather  lively  pace  you  set  for 
us,"  almost  chuckles  Old  Hickory. 

"I  have  never  enjoyed  a  ride  more,"  says 
Auntie.  "My  blood  is  still  tingling  from  it." 

"And  mine,"  says  Mr.  Ellins.  "We  nearly 
overhauled  you  once.  Did  your  cab  hit  any- 
thing?" 

"Only  the  hub  of  an  ashcart,"  says  she. 
"We  lost  part  of  a  front  fender.  And  once  a 
traffic  policeman  tried  to  arrest  us.  We  rushed 
him,  though." 

"Auntie!"  comes  from  Vee  husky,  as  she 
drops  back  on  a  window  seat.  But  Auntie  takes 
no  notice. 

"I  say,"  goes  on  Old  Hickory,  "has  Killam 
shown  you  the  jewelry  he  dug  from  the 
mound?" 

Auntie  nods.  "It  is  genuine  antique,"  says 
she,  "the  Louis  Treize  period,  one  piece.  If 
there  is  much  like  that,  no  collection  in  the 
world  can  match  it." 

"Hm-m-m-m!"  says  Old  Hickory.  "I  am 
rather  interested  in  that  sort  of  thing  myself. 
Then  there  is  the  bullion.  Of  course,  if  it 
should  turn  out  to  be  part  of  the  Louisiana 
Purchase  money,  and  it  became  known  that  it 
had  been  recovered,  I  suppose  the  federal  gov- 


WHEN  AUNTIE  CRASHES  IN     177 

eminent  would  step  in,  perhaps  claim  the 
larger  share." 

"That  would  be  an  outrage,"  says  Auntie. 
' '  There 's  no  sense  in  that,  not  a  bit.  You — you 
mean  you  would  give  the  information — that  is, 
unless — " 

"I  never  make  threats,"  says  Old  Hickory, 
*  *  even  when  I  think  I  have  been  cheated  out  of 
doing  something  I've  wanted  all  my  life  to 
have  a  try  at." 

It's  Auntie's  turn  to  stare  at  him.  And 
hanged  if  she  don't  sort  of  mellow  up. 

"Really?"  says  she.  "I— I  had  no  idea, 
And  it  would  be  fun,  wouldn't  it,  sailing  off  for 
that  enchanted  coast  to  hunt  for  a  real  treasure 
island!" 

"  *Yo,  ho,  ho,  and  a  bottle  of  rum!'  "  roars 
out  Mr.  Ellins. 

It's  the  battiest  remark  I  ever  heard  him 
make.  I  was  lookin'  for  Auntie  to  throw  some 
sort  of  a  fit.  But  she  don't.  She  comes  nearer 
chucklin'  than  anything  else. 

"Mr.  Ellins,"  says  she,  "I  think  perhaps  I 
have  misjudged  you.  And  I — I  suppose  I  really 
ought  not  to  attempt  such  a  thing  alone.  Shall 
we — er — " 

"Why  not?"  says  he,  reachin'  out  his  hand. 
"Share  and  share  alike." 

"Agreed!"  says  Auntie.     "And  now,  sup- 


178  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

pose  we  get  the  Captain  and  look  for  that 
yacht." 

They  was  so  anxious  to  get  at  it  that  they 
chases  off  without  a  word  to  either  Vee  or  me. 
She  just  sits  there  starin'  after  'em. 

"Did  anyone  ever  hear  of  anything  quite 
so  absurd?"  says  Vee. 

"I  don't  know,"  says  I.  "I  never  worked 
in  a  filbert  factory  myself.  I'm  sure  of  one 
thing,  though.  With  them  two  on  the  job,  it's 
goin'  to  be  put  up  to  Rupert  to  come  across. 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  JOLT  FROM   OLD   HICKORY 

You  know  Old  Hickory  Ellins  ain't  what  you 
might  call  a  sunshine  distributor.  His  disposi- 
tion would  hardly  remind  you  of  a  placid  pool 
at  morn,  or  the  end  of  a  perfect  day.  Not  as 
a  rule.  Sort  of  a  cross  between  a  March  bliz- 
zard and  a  July  thunderstorm  would  hit  it 
nearer. 

Honest,  sometimes  when  he  has  started  on  a 
rampage  through  the  general  offices  here,  I've 
seen  the  bond-room  clerks  grip  their  desks  like 
they  expected  to  be  blown  through  the  win- 
dows ;  and  the  sickly  green  tinge  on  Piddie  's 
face  when  he  comes  out  from  a  hectic  ten  min- 
utes with  the  big  boss  is  as  good  a  trouble 
barometer  as  you'd  want. 

Even  on  average  days,  when  Corrugated 
affairs  seem  to  be  runnin'  smooth,  Mr.  Ellins 
is  apt  to  come  down  with  a  lumbago  grouch  or 
develop  shootin'  pains  in  the  knee,  and  then 
anybody  who  ducks  gettin*  in  range  of  that 
snappy  sarcasm  of  his  is  lucky. 

Not  that  he  always  means  it,  or  that  he 's  gen- 

179 


180  WILT  THOU  TOECHY 

erally  disliked.  As  soon  as  it's  safe,  the  bond 
clerks  grin  at  each  other  and  the  lady  typists 
go  to  yankin'  away  on  their  gum  placid.  They 
know  nobody's  ever  had  the  can  tied  to  'em 
from  this  joint  without  good  cause.  Also, 
they've  come  to  expect  about  so  many  growls 
a  day  from  Old  Hickory. 

But  say,  they  don't  know  what  to  make  of 
him  this  last  week  or  so.  Twice  he's  been  late, 
three  days  runnin*  he's  quit  early,  and  in  all 
that  time  he  ain't  raised  a  blessed  howl  about 
anything.  Not  only  that,  but  the  other  mornin' 
he  blew  in  wearin'  a  carnation  in  his  button- 
hole and  hummin'  a  tune.  I  saw  Piddie  watch 
him  with  his  eyes  bugged,  and  the  battery  of 
typists  let  out  a  sort  of  chorus  gasp  as  the 
door  of  his  private  office  shut  behind  him. 

Finally  Mr.  Robert  beckons  me  over  and  re- 
marks confidential: 

"Torchy,  have  you — er — noticed  anything 
peculiar  about  the  governor  these  last  few 
days?" 

" Could  I  help  it?"  says  I. 

"Ah!"  says  ho.  "Somewhat  rare,  such 
moods.  I've  been  wondering.  He  has  hinted 
to  me  that  he  might  start  on  some  sort  of  a 
cruise  soon." 

"Has  he?"  says  I,  tryin'  to  look  surprised. 

"You  don't  suppose,  Torchy,"  Mr.  Eobert 


A  JOLT  FROM  OLD  HICKORY     181 

goes  on,  '  *  that  the  governor  really  means  to  go 
after  that  buried  treasure!" 

"Mr.  Robert,"  says  I,  "I  ain't  savin'  a 
word. ' ' 

* '  By  Jove ! ' '  says  he.  ' '  So  that 's  the  way  it 
stands?  Well,  you  haven't  told  me  anything. 
And,  do  you  know,  I  am  beginning  to  think  it 
would  be  a  fine  thing  for  him  to  do.  It  would 
get  his  mind  off  business,  give  him  an  outing, 
and — er — simplify  our  negotiations  in  that  Ish- 
peming  deal.  I  think  I  shall  encourage  his 
going." 

"If  you  want  to  make  it  doubtful,  I  would," 
says  I. 

"Eh?"  says  Mr.  Robert.  "You  mean — 
Well,  I'm  not  sure  but  that  you're  right.  I'll 
do  just  the  opposite,  then — suggest  that  he'll 
not  like  cruising,  and  remind  him  that  the  Cor- 
rugated has  a  critical  season  ahead  of  it.  By 
the  way,  what  sort  of  a  boat  has  he  chartered?" 

"At  last  accounts,"  says  I,  "they  hadn't 
found  one  that  suited.  You  see,  Auntie  won't 
stand  for  a  gasoline  engine,  and — " 

"Do  I  understand  that  Mrs.  Hemmingway  is 
going,  too?"  gasps  Mr.  Robert. 

I  nods. 

'  *  She 's  one  of  the  partners, ' '  says  I.  ' '  Kind 
of  a  particular  old  girl,  too,  when  it  comes  to 
yachts.  I  judge  she  wants  something  about 


182  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

half  way  between  a  Cunarder  and  a  ten-room 
flat;  something  wide  and  substantial." 

Mr.  Robert  grins.  ''They  ought  to  be  told 
about  the  Agnes,"  says  he. 

"What  about  her?"  says  I. 

"Why,"  says  he,  "she's  the  marine  antique 
that  Ollie  Wade  inherited  from  his  uncle,  the 
old  Commodore.  A  fine  boat  in  her  day,  too, 
but  a  trifle  obsolete  now :  steam,  of  course,  and 
a  scandalous  coal  eater.  Slow,  too;  ten  knots 
is  her  top  speed.  But  she's  a  roomy,  com- 
fortable old  tub,  and  Ollie  would  be  glad  to  get 
her  off  his  hands  for  a  month  or  two.  Sup- 
pose I — " 

"Would  you  mind,  Mr.  Robert,"  I  breaks  in, 
"if  I  discovered  the  Agnes  for  'em?  I  might 
boost  my  battin'  average  with  Auntie;  and 
maybe  I  could  work  Ollie  for  a  commission. ' ' 

"Here!"  says  Mr.  Robert,  shovin'  over  the 
desk  'phone.  "Make  him  give  you  five  per 
cent,  at  least.  Here's  his  number." 

So  that's  how  it  happens  I  come  to  be  pilotin' 
this  trio  of  treasure  hunters — Auntie,  Old  Hick- 
ory, and  Captain  Rupert  Killam — over  to  a 
South  Brooklyn  yacht  basin  and  exhibitin'  the 
Agnes.  You  'd  never  guess,  either,  from  the  way 
she's  all  painted  up  fresh,  that  she  was  the 
A.  Y.  C.  flagship  as  far  back  as  the  early 
nineties. 


A  JOLT  FROM  OLD  HICKORY      183 

"What  a  nice,  wide  boat!"  says  Auntie. 

"Beam  enough  for  a  battleship,"  grumbles 
Rupert. 

"I  do  hope,"  goes  on  Auntie,  "that  the  state- 
rooms are  something  more  than  cubbyholes." 

"Let's  take  a  look,"  says  I,  producin'  the 
keys. 

Ollie  had  mentioned  specially  the  main  sa- 
loon, but  I  wasn't  lookin'  for  anything  half  so 
grand.  Why,  you  could  almost  give  a  ball 
in  it.  Had  a  square  piano  and  a  fireplace, 
too. 

' '  Huh ! ' '  says  Old  Hickory.    ' « Quite  a  craft. ' ' 

It  was  when  we  got  to  the  two  suites,  one  on 
each  side  of  the  companionway  'midships,  that 
Auntie  got  real  enthusiastic;  for,  besides  the 
brass  beds  and  full-sized  bathtubs,  they  had 
clothes  closets,  easy  chairs,  and  writin'  desks. 

"Excellent!"  says  she.  "But  what  are  those 
queer  overhead  pipes  for,  I  wonder?" 

"Must  be  for  the  cold-air  system  Mr.  Wade 
was  tellin'  me  about,"  says  I. 

1  i  Oh,  yes, ' '  adds  Old  Hickory.  '  *  I  remember 
now.  This  is  the  boat  Commodore  Wade  went 
up  the  Orinoco  in,  and  he  had  her  fitted  for 
tropical  cruising.  How  many  staterooms  in 
all,  did  you  say,  son?" 

"Twelve,  outside  of  the  crew's  quarters," 
says  I. 


184  WILT  THOU  TOBCHY 

"Regular  floating  hotel,"  says  Old  Hickory. 
"We  shall  not  be  crowded  for  room,  Mrs. 
Hemmingway . " 

"Then  why  not  ask  some  of  our  friends  to 
go  with  us?"  suggests  Auntie.  "There  are 
one  or  two  I  should  like  to  take  along  for  com- 
panionship. And  it  will  not  look  so  much 
like  an  expedition  if  we  make  up  a  cruising 
party." 

"Very  well,"  says  Old  Hickory;  "that's  not 
a  bad  idea.  We'll  decide  on  this  boat,  then!" 

Captain  Killam  tried  to  point  out  that  the 
Agnes  was  a  bigger  craft  than  they  needed,  and 
that  she  didn't  look  as  if  she  had  much  speed. 
But  Auntie  had  already  planned  how  she  could 
camp  comfortable  in  one  of  them  suites,  and 
Old  Hickory  had  discovered  that  the  yacht 
sported  a  wireless  outfit.  Hanged  if  each  one 
of  'em  didn't  talk  like  they'd  found  the  Agnes 
all  by  themselves,  or  had  her  built  to  order  I  I 
got  about  as  much  credit  as  if  I  hadn't  been 
along  at  all. 

I  felt  a  little  better  about  that  two  hours 
later,  when  I'd  hunted  up  Ollie  at  his  club, 
shoved  a  thousand  dollar  check  at  him,  and  got 
his  name  on  a  charter  agreement. 

"I  say,  you  know,"  says  Ollie,  "awfully  good 
of  you  to  do  this." 

"I'm  like  that  all  the  time,"  says  I,  pocketin' 


A  JOLT  FROM  OLD  HICKORY     185 

my  fifty  commission.  "I'll  rent  the  Agnes  out 
for  you  any  old  day,  so  long  as  I  don't  have  to 
go  battin'  around  on  her  myself." 

Course,  if  it  was  just  a  case  of  sailin'  down 
to  Coney  and  back,  or  maybe  runnin'  up  the 
Hudson  as  far  as  Yonkers,  I'd  take  a  chance. 
But  this  pikin'  right  out  past  Sandy  Hook,  and 
then  goin'  on  for  days  and  days,  leavin'  Broad- 
way further  behind  every  turn  of  the  shaft — 
that's  different.  You're  liable  to  get  so  far 
away. 

Then,  there 's  that  wabbly  feeling  that  comes 
over  you.  Say,  I  had  it  once,  when  I  was  out 
in  an  old  lobster  boat  off  the  coast  of  Maine, 
the  time  I  used  my  summer  vacation  chasin'  up 
where  Vee  was  visitin'.  I  had  it  good  and 
plenty,  too,  and  didn't  have  to  go  more'n  a 
couple  of  miles  to  get  it,  either.  But  think  of 
bein'  that  way  for  a  couple  of  weeks,  and  out 
where  you  couldn't  get  ashore  if  you  wanted 
to.  Excuse  me! 

Besides,  I  never  did  have  the  travel  bug  very 
hard.  I'll  admit  I  ain't  seen  much  of  the  coun- 
try outside  of  New  York;  but  say,  what  I  have 
looked  over  struck  me  as  bein'  kind  of  crude. 
I  expect  fields  and  woods  and  the  seaside  stuff 
is  all  right  for  them  that  likes  'em.  Make  good 
pictures,  and  all  that.  But  them  places  always 
seem  to  me  such  lonesome  spots.  Fine  and 


186  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

dandy,  so  far  as  the  view  goes,  but  nobody  to 
it.  I  like  my  scenery  sort  of  inhabited,  and 
fixed  so  it  can  be  lit  up  at  night.  So  I  do  most 
of  my  travelin'  between,  the  Bronx  and  the 
Battery,  and  let  it  go  at  that. 

Now  Vee  has  been  brought  up  different. 
She's  chased  round  with  Auntie  all  over  the 
map,  ever  since  she  can  remember.  They 
don't  mind  startin'  off  with  a  maid  and  seven 
trunks  and  not  seein'  Fifth  Avenue  for  months 
at  a  time.  She  and  Auntie  think  nothing  at  all 
of  driftin'  into  places  like  Nagasaki  or  Hono- 
lulu or  Algiers,  hirin'  a  furnished  flat  or  a 
house,  and  campin'  down  just  as  if  they  be- 
longed there ;  places  where  they  speak  all  kinds 
of  crazy  languages,  where  ice-cream  sodas 
don't  grow  at  all,  and  where  you  don't  even 
know  what  you're  eatin'  half  the  time.  Think 
of  that !  But  Auntie 's  an  original  old  girl,  take 
it  from  me. 

"She  ain't  countin*  on  draggin'  you  off  on 
this  batty  gold-diggin'  excursion,  is  she?"  I 
asks  the  other  evenin',  as  I  was  up  makin'  my 
reg'lar  Wednesday  night  call. 

Vee  shrugs  her  shoulders. 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  says  she.  "You 
see,  although  she  knows  perfectly  well  I've 
heard  all  about  it,  Auntie  makes  a  deep  mys- 
tery of  everything  connected  with  this  cruis«- 


A  JOLT  FROM  OLD  HICKORY      187 

It's  that  absurd  Captain  Killam  who  puts  her 
up  to  it,  I  believe." 

"Romantic  Rupert!"  says  I.  "Oh,  he's  a 
soft-shell  on  that  subject.  Accordin'  to  his 
idea,  anybody  who  overhears  any  details  of 
this  pirate  treasure  tale  of  his  is  liable  to  grab 
a  dirt  shovel  and  rush  right  off  down  there  to 
begin  diggin'  Florida  up  by  the  roots.  He  loses 
sleep  worryin'  as  to  whether  someone  else 
won't  get  there  first.  It  would  be  tough  if 
Auntie  should  take  you  along,  though.  I'd  hate 
that." 

"Would  you?"  says  Vee.  "Really?  Well, 
I've  been  asked  to  visit  at  three  places — Green- 
wich, Piping  Rock,  and  here  in  town.  How 
would  that  be!" 

"Not  so  bad,"  says  I,  "specially  that  last 
proposition.  I'm  strong  for  your  visitin'  here 
in  town," 

"Perhaps  we  shall  hear  to-night  whether  I'm 
to  go  or  not,"  says  Vee.  "They  are  to  hold 
some  sort  of  meeting  here — everyone  who  has 
been  asked  on  the  cruise.  There's  someone 
now. ' ' 

"It's  Mr.  Ellins,"  says  I,  "and—  Oh,  look 
who  he's  towin'  along — J.  Dudley  Simms.  He 
must  be  for  comic  relief." 

Just  why  him  and  Old  Hickory  should  be 
such  great  friends  I  never  could  make  out,  for 


188  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

they're  about  as  much  alike  as  T  and  S.  Dud- 
ley's as  thin  as  Mr.  Ellins  is  thick;  he  always 
wears  that  batty  twisted  smile,  while  Old  Hick- 
ory's mouth  corners  are  generally  straight,  and 
he  knows  no  more  about  finance  than  an  ostrich 
does  about  playin'  first  base.  Mr.  Simms  owns 
a  big  block  of  Corrugated  preferred,  and  he's 
supposed  to  be  on  the  Board;  but  all  he  ever 
does  is  to  sign  over  proxy  slips  and  duck  di- 
rectors' meetin's. 

"I'm  an  orphan,  you  know,"  is  his  stock  re- 
mark when  anyone  tries  to  talk  business  to 
him. 

Even  if  he  didn't  wear  gray  spats  and  a  wide 
ribbon  on  his  eyeglasses,  you'd  spot  him  for 
a  funny  gink  by  the  offset  ears  and  the  odd 
way  he  has  of  carryin'  his  head  a  little  to  one 
side. 

"What  a  queer-looking  person!"  whispers 
Vee. 

"Wait  until  you  hear  him  spring  some  of  his 
nutty  conversation,"  says  I. 

By  this  time  the  bell  buzzes  again,  and  Helma 
shows  in  a  dumpy  little  woman  with  partly 
gray  hair  and  Baldwin  apple  cheeks — evidently 
a  friend  of  Auntie's  by  the  way  they  go  to  a 
clinch. 

"Mrs.  Mumford,"  says  Vee. 


A  JOLT  FROM  OLD  HICKORY     189 

" Auntie's  donation  to  the  party,  eh!"  says 
I.  *  *  Just  listen  to  her  coo ! ' ' 

"S-s-sh!"  says  Vee,  snickerin'. 

That's  what  it  was,  though — cooin'.  Seems 
to  be  her  specialty,  too,  for  she  goes  bobbin' 
and  bowin'  around  the  room,  makin'  noises  like 
a  turtle-dove  on  a  top  branch. 

1 '  0-o-o-oh,  Mr.  Ellins ! ' '  says  she.  ' '  So  glad 
to  know  you.  0-o-o-oh!"  And  she  smiles  and 
ducks  her  head  and  beams  gushy  on  everyone 
in  sight. 

1  'How  long  can  she  keep  that  up  on  a 
stretch!"  I  asks  Vee. 

"Indefinitely,"  says  Vee.  "It's  quite  natu- 
ral, you  know.  For,  really,  she's  an  old  dear, 
but  a  bit  tiresome.  If  she  goes  she  will  knit 
or  crochet  the  whole  blessed  time,  no  matter 
what  happens.  She  crocheted  all  over  Europe 
with  us  one  summer.  Fancy  facing  the  Matter- 
horn  and  counting  stitches!  But  Mrs.  Mum- 
ford  did  it." 

"Then  she'll  be  a  great  help  on  their  cruise, 
I  don't  think,"  says  I. 

"Oh,  but  she  will,"  says  Vee.  "You  see, 
she  always  agrees  with  everything  Auntie  says, 
and  very  few  can  do  that.  Well,  here  comes 
Professor  Leonidas  Barr,  too.  You  might 
know  Auntie  would  want  him  along." 


190  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

"What's  he  luggin'  his  hat  in  for?"  says  I. 
"Don't  he  trust  Helma?" 

"It's  because  he's  afraid  he'll  walk  out 
without  it, ' '  says  Vee.  * '  But  he  '11  do  that,  any- 
way. And  he  leaves  it  in  the  weirdest  places 
— under  the  piano,  in  a  vase,  or  back  of  the 
fire  screen.  We  always  have  a  grand  hunt  for 
the  Professor's  hat  when  he  starts  to  go.  But 
it's  no  wonder  he  forgets  such  trifles,  when  he 
knows  so  much  about  fishes.  He  writes  books 
about  'em." 

"He  looks  it,"  says  I.  "And,  last  but  not 
least,  we  have  arriving  Captain  Eupert  Killam, 
who  started  all  this  trouble.  My,  but  he  takes 
life  serious,  don't  hef" 

From  where  we  sat  in  the  library  window  al- 
cove, we  could  get  a  fair  view  of  the  bunch  up 
front,  and  I  must  say  that  the  last  thing  in  the 
world  you'd  ever  expect  this  collection  to  do 
would  be  to  go  cruisin'  off  after  pirate  gold. 
Here  they  were,  though,  gathered  in  Auntie's 
drawin'-room,  and  if  the  idea  of  the  meetin* 
wasn't  to  hear  details  about  the  trip,  what 
was  it? 

I  was  expectin'  Auntie  to  have  the  foldin' 
doors  shut  and  an  executive  session  called;  but 
she  either  forgot  we  was  there,  or  else  she  was 
too  excited  to  notice  it,  for  the  next  thing  we 
knew  she  was  callin'  on  Mr.  Ellins  to  state  the 


A  JOLT  FROM  OLD  HICKORY      191 

proposition.  Which  he  does  in  his  usual  crisp 
way. 

' '  You  have  been  asked, ' '  says  he,  "  to  go  with 
us  on  a  cruise  to  the  west  coast  of  Florida. 
That  is  all  you  are  supposed  to  know  about  it, 
according  to  Captain  Killam's  notion.  But 
that's  nonsense.  I,  for  one,  don't  intend  to 
keep  up  an  air  of  mysterious  secrecy  for  the 
next  three  or  four  weeks.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
we  are  going  after  hidden  treasure — pirate 
gold,  buried  jewels,  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"0-o-o-oh!"  coos  Mrs.  Mumford.  " Doesn't 
that  sound  deliciously  romantic?" 

''Quixotic  if  you  will,"  says  Mr.  Ellins. 
"But  Mrs.  Hemmingway  and  myself,  although 
we  may  not  look  it,  are  just  that  kind.  We  are 
desperate  characters,  if  the  truth  must  be  told. 
The  only  reason  we  haven't  hunted  for  buried 
treasure  before  is  that  we  have  lacked  the  op- 
portunity. We  think  we  have  it  now.  Captain 
Killam,  here,  has  told  us  of  an  island  on  which 
is  a  buried  pirate  hoard — millions  in  gold, 
priceless  jewels  by  the  peck.  And  that's  what 
we're  going  after." 

"Most  interesting,  I'm  sure,"  says  Professor 
Barr,  wipin'  his  glasses  absent-minded  with  a 
corner  of  Mrs.  Mumford 's  shoulder  scarf. 

"But,  I  say,"  puts  in  J.  Dudley  Simms,  "I'll 
not  be  any  help  at  digging,  you  know." 


192  WILT  THOU  TOECHY 

"Has  anyone  ever  suspected  you  of  being 
useful  in  any  capacity?"  demands  Old  Hickory. 

"Oh,  come!"  protests  Dudley.  "I  play  a 
fair  game  of  bridge,  don't  I?" 

"Exception  allowed,"  says  Mr.  Ellins.  "And 
I  may  say,  to  quiet  any  similar  fears,  that  the 
entire  burden  of  the  treasure  hunt  will  be  un- 
dertaken by  Mrs.  Hemmingway,  the  Captain, 
and  myself.  Incidentally,  we  expect  to  divide 
the  spoils  among  ourselves.  Aside  from  that, 
we  ask  you  to  share  with  us  the  pleasure  and 
perhaps  the  perils  of  the  trip." 

"0-o-o-oh!"  coos  Mrs.  Mumford,  meanin* 
nothing  at  all. 

"We  have  secured  a  good-sized,  comfortable 
yacht,"  goes  on  Old  Hickory.  "You  will  each 
have  a  stateroom,  assigned  by  lot.  Meal  hours 
and  the  menu  will  be  left  to  the  discretion  of 
a  competent  steward. 

' '  We  sail  on  Wednesday,  promptly  at  11  A.M. 
Just  when  we  shall  return  I  can't  say.  It  may 
be  in  a  month,  possibly  two.  You  will  need  to 
dress  for  the  tropics — thin  clothing,  sun  hel- 
mets, colored  glasses,  all  that  sort  of  thing. 

"And  you  need  not  be  surprised  to  learn  that 
the  yacht  is  somewhat  heavily  armed.  On  the 
forward  deck  you  will  see  something  wrapped 
in  canvas.  To  anticipate  your  curiosity  I  will 
state  now  that  this  is  a  machine  for  making 


A  JOLT  FROM  OLD  HICKORY     193 

and  distributing  poisonous  gas,  as  our  treasure 
island  is  infested  with  rattlesnakes  and  mos- 
quitos.  It  may  also  be  useful  in  discouraging 
anyone  who  tries  to  interfere  with  our  enter- 
prise. Am  I  correct,  Captain  Killam?" 

"  Quite, ".  says  Rupert,  noddin'  his  head 
solemn. 

"And  now,"  says  Old  Hickory,  "having  been 
thoroughly  frank  with  you,  I  ask  that  this  in- 
formation be  treated  as  confidential.  Also,  will 
any  of  you  who  wish  to  reconsider  your  ac- 
ceptances kindly  say  so  at  once?  How  about 
you,  Simms?" 

"As  you  know,  Ellins,"  says  J.  Dudley,  "I 
am  a  timid,  fearsome  person.  Do  I  understand 
that  you  three  assume  all  responsibility,  all 
risks  ? ' ' 

"Absolutely,"  says  Mr.  Ellins. 

"Then  here  is  an  opportunity  to  indulge  in 
vicarious  adventure,"  says  Dudley,  "which  I 
can't  afford  to  miss.  I'll  go;  but  I  shall  ex- 
pect when  the  time  comes,  Ellins,  that  you  will 
conduct  yourself  in  an  utterly  reckless  manner, 
while  I  watch  you  through  a  porthole." 

"And  you,  Professor?"  goes  on  Mr.  Ellins. 

"If  I  can  secure  a  specimen  of  the  rivoluta 
splendens,"  says  Leonidas,  "I  shall  gladly 
take  any  chances." 

"Isn't  the  dear  Professor  just  too  heroic?" 


194  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

coos  Mrs.  Mumford.  "It  will  be  worth  while 
going  merely  to  see  what  a  rivoluta  splendens 
really  is." 

"We  seem  to  be  agreed,"  says  Old  Hickory, 
"and  our  company  is  made  up.  That  is,  with 
two  exceptions." 

"Great  Scott!"  I  whispers  to  Vee.  "Two 
more  freaks  to  come!" 

"Listen,"  says  Vee.  "Auntie  is  saying 
something. ' ' 

So  she  is,  a  whole  mouthful. 

"My  niece,  Verona,  will  accompany  me,  of 
course,"  she  announces. 

"Well,  ain't  that  rough!"  says  I.  "Now 
what's  the  sense  in  draggin'  you  off  down— 

"And  I  am  obliged,"  breaks  in  Mr.  Ellins, 
"to  take  with  me,  for  purely  business  reasons, 
my  private  secretary.  Mrs.  Hemmingway,  isn't 
the  young  man  somewhere  about  the  place?" 

"Good  night!"  I  gasps.    "Me!" 

"Well,  I  like  that!"  says  Vee,  givin'  me  a 
pinch. 

"Take  it  back,"  says  I.  "If  it's  a  case  of  us 
goin',  that's  different.  But  what  a  bunch  to 
go  cruisin'  with!" 

And  say,  when  I'm  led  out  and  introduced, 
I  must  have  acted  like  I  was  in  a  trance.  I  got 
it  so  sudden,  you  see,  and  so  unexpected.  Here 
I'd  been  sittin'  back  all  the  while  and  knockin' 


A  JOLT  FROM  OLD  HICKORY     195 

this  whole  thing  as  a  squirrel-house  expedi- 
tion, besides  passin'  comments  on  the  crowd; 
and  the  next  thing  I  know  I'm  counted  in,  with 
my  name  on  the  passenger  list. 

That  was  two  days  ago;  and  while  I've 
been  movin'  around  lively  enough  ever  since, 
windin'  things  up  at  the  office,  hirin'  a  wireless 
operator  for  Mr.  Ellins,  and  layin'  in  a  stock 
of  Palm  Beach  suits  and  white  deck  shoes,  I 
ain't  got  over  the  jolt  yet. 

*  *  Say,  Mr.  Robert, ' '  says  I,  when  no  one  else 
is  around,  "how  long  can  anybody  be  seasick 
and  live  through  it!" 

"Oh,  it  is  seldom  fatal,"  says  he.  "The 
victims  linger  on  and  on." 

' '  Hal-lup ! "  says  I.  "  And  I  '11  bet  that  roly- 
poly  Mrs.  Mumford  comes  twice  a  day  to  coo 
to  me.  What  did  I  ever  get  let  in  on  this  pri- 
vate seccing  for,  anyway?" 


CHAPTER  XII 

TOECHY    HITS    THE    HIGH    SEAS 

WELL,  I  got  to  take  it  all  back — most  of  it, 
anyway.  For,  between  you  and  me,  this  bein' 
a  seagoing  private  sec.  ain't  the  worst  that 
can  happen.  Not  so  far  as  I've  seen. 

What  I'm  most  chesty  over,  though,  is  the 
fact  that  I've  been  through  the  wop  and  wiggle 
test  without  feedin'  the  fishes.  You  see,  when 
the  good  yacht  Agnes  leaves  Battery  Park 
behind,  slides  down  past  Staten  Island  and 
the  Hook,  and  out  into  the  Ambrose  Channel, 
I'm  feelin'  sort  of  low.  I'd  been  lookin'  our 
course  up  on  the  map,  and,  believe  me,  from 
where  New  York  leaves  off  to  where  the  tip 
end  of  Florida  juts  out  into  the  Gulf  Stream 
is  some  wide  and  watery  jump.  No  places  to 
get  off  at  in  between,  so  far  as  I  can  dope  out. 
It's  just  a  case  of  buttin*  right  out  into  the 
Atlantic  and  keepin'  on  and  on. 

We  hadn't  got  past  Scotland  Lightship 
before  the  Agnes  begins  that  monotonous 
heave-and-drop  stunt.  Course,  it  ain't  any 
motion  worth  mentioning  but  somehow  it  sort 

196 


TORCHY  HITS  THE  HIGH  SEAS     197 

of  surprises  you  to  find  that  it  keeps  up  so 
constant.  It's  up  and  down,  up  and  down, 
steady  as  the  tick  of  a  clock;  and  every  time 
you  glance  over  the  rail  or  through  a  porthole 
you  see  it's  quite  a  ride  you  take.  I  didn't 
mind  goin'  up  a  bit;  it's  that  blamed  feelin' 
of  bein'  let  down  that's  annoyin'. 

For  a  while  there  I  was  more  or  less  busy 
helping  Old  Hickory  get  his  floating  office 
straightened  out  and  taking  down  a  few  code 
messages  for  the  wireless  man  to  send  back 
to  the  general  offices  while  we  was  still  within 
easy  strikin'  distance.  It  was  when  I  planted 
myself  in  a  wicker  chair  'way  back  by  the 
stern,  and  begun  watchin'  that  slow,  regular 
lift  and  dip  of  the  deck,  that  I  felt  this  lump 
come  in  my  throat  and  begun  wonderin'  what 
it  was  I'd  had  for  lunch  that  I  shouldn't.  My 
head  felt  kind  of  mean,  too,  sort  of  dull  and 
throbby,  and  I  expect  I  wasn't  as  ruddy  in  the 
face  as  I  might  have  been. 

Then  up  comes  Vee,  lookin'  as  fresh  and 
nifty  as  if  she  was  just  steppin'  out  on  the 
Avenue;  and  before  I  can  duck  behind  any- 
thing she's  spotted  me. 

""Why,  Torchy,"  says  she,  "you  don't  mean 
to  say  you're  feeling  badly  already!  Or  is  it 
because  you're  leaving  New  York?" 


198  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

Then  I  saw  my  alibi.  I  sighs  and  gazes 
mushy  back  towards  the  land. 

"I  can't  help  it,"  says  I.  "I  think  a  heap 
of  that  little  old  burg.  It — it's  been  mother 
and  father  to  me — all  that  sort  of  thing.  I've 
hardly  ever  been  away  from  it,  you  know,  and 
I — I — "  Here  I  smiles  sad  and  makes  a  stab 
at  swallowin'  the  lump. 

"What  a  goose!"  says  Vee,  but  pats  me 
soothin'  on  the  shoulder.  "Come,  let's  do  a 
few  turns  around  the  deck." 

"Thanks,"  says  I,  "but  I  guess  I'd  better 
just  sit  here  quiet  and — and  try  to  forget." 

"Nonsense!"  says  Vee.  "That's  a  silly  way 
to  act.  Besides,  you  ought  to  tramp  around 
and  get  the  feel  of  the  boat.  You  '11  be  noticing 
the  motion  if  you  don't." 

"Pooh!"  says  I.  "What  this  old  boat  does 
is  beneath  my  notice.  She 's  headed  away  from 
Broadway,  that's  all  I  know  about  her.  But 
if  you  want  someone  to  trail  around  the  deck 
with,  I'm  ready.  Only  I  ain't  apt  to  be  very 
cheerful,  not  for  a  while  yet." 

Say,  that  dope  of  Vee's  about  gettin'  the 
feel  of  the  boat  was  a  good  hunch.  Once  you 
get  it  in  your  legs  the  soggy  feelin'  under  your 
vest  begins  to  let  up.  Also  your  head  clears. 
Why,  inside  of  half  an  hour  I'm  steppin'  out 
brisk  with  my  chin  up,  breathin'  in  great 


TORCHY  HITS  THE  HIGH  SEAS     199 

chunks  of  salt  air  and  meetin'  that  heave 
of  the  deck  as  natural  as  if  I'd  walked  on 
rubber  pavements  all  my  life.  After  that, 
whenever  I  got  to  havin'  any  of  them  up  and 
down  sensations  in  the  plumbin'  department, 
I  dashed  for  the  open  air  and  walked  it  down. 

Lucky  I  could,  too;  for  about  Friday  after- 
noon we  ran  into  some  weather  that  was  the 
real  thing.  It  had  been  cloudy  most  of  the 
mornin',  with  the  wind  makin'  up,  and  around 
three  o'clock  there  was  whitecaps  as  far  as 
you  could  see.  Nothin'  monotonous  or  reg'lar 
about  the  motion  of  the  Agnes  then.  She'd 
lift  up  on  one  of  them  big  waves  like  she  was 
stretchin'  her  neck  to  see  over  the  top;  then, 
as  it  rolled  under  her,  she'd  tip  to  one  side 
until  it  looked  like  she  was  tryin'  to  spill  us, 
and  she'd  slide  down  into  a  soapsudsy  hollow 
until  she  met  a  solid  wall  of  green  water. 

"This  is  what  we  generally  get  off 
Hatteras,"  says  Vee,  who  has  shown  up  in  a 
green  oiled  silk  outfit  and  has  joined  me  in  a 
sheltered  spot  under  the  bridge.  "Isn't  it 
perfectly  gorgeous!" 

"It's  all  right  for  once,"  says  I,  "providin' 
it  don't  last  too  long.  Everyone  below  enjoyin' 
it,  are  they?" 

"Oh,  Auntie's  been  in  her  berth  for  hours," 
says  Vee.  ' '  She  never  takes  any  chances.  But 


200  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

Mrs.  Mumford  tried  to  sit  up  and  crochet. 
Helma's  trying  to  take  care  of  her,  and  she 
can  hardly  hold  her  head  up.  They  are  both 
quite  sure  they're  going  to  die  at  once.  You 
should  hear  them  taking  on." 

"How  is  it  this  don't  get  you,  too?"  says  I. 

"I've  always  been  a  good  sailor,"  says  Vee. 
"And,  anyway,  a  storm  is  too  thrilling  to  waste 
the  time  being  seasick.  I  always  want  to  stay 
up  around,  too,  and  repeat  that  little  verse  of 
Kipling's.  You  know — 

.          '  When  the  cabin  portholes  are  dark  and  green, 

Because  of  the  seas  outside, 
When  the  ship  goes  wop  with  a  wiggle  between, 
And  the  cook  falls  into  the  soup  tureen, 

And  the  trunks  begin  to  slide — ' 

Doesn't  that  just  describe  it,  though — that 
'wop  with  a  wiggle  between'?" 

"As  good  as  a  thousand  feet  of  film,"  says 
I.  "Kip  must  have  had  some  of  this  fun  him- 
self. Here  comes  a  wop  for  us.  There !  Great, 
eh?" 

I  hope  I  made  it  convincing  but,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  I  had  to  force  the  enthusiasm  a  bit.' 

Not  that  I  was  scared,  exactly;  but  now  and 
then,  when  the  Agnes  sidled  downhill  and 
buried  the  whole  front  end  of  her  in  a  wave 
that  looked  like  a  side  elevation  of  the  Flatiron 
Building,  I'd  have  a  panicky  thought  as  to 


TORCHY  HITS  THE  HIGH  SEAS    201 

whether  some  time  she  wouldn't  forget  to  come 
up  again. 

She  never  did,  though.  No  matter  how  hard 
she  was  soused  under,  she'd  shake  it  off  with 
a  shiver  and  go  on  climbin'  up  again  patient. 

There  was  several  vacant  chairs  at  the 
dinner-table,  and  when  I  finally  crawled  into 
my  bunk  about  9:30  I  had  to  brace  myself  to 
keep  from  bein'  slopped  out  on  the  floor. 

I  was  wonderin'  whether  I'd  be  too  sick  to 
answer  the  shipwreck  call  when  it  came,  and 
I  tried  to  figure  out  how  I'd  feel  bouncin' 
around  on  them  skyscraper  waves  draped  in 
thin  pajamas  and  a  life  belt,  until  I  must  have 
dropped  off  to  sleep. 

And,  take  it  from  me,  when  I  woke  up  and 
saw  the  good  old  sunshine  streamin'  in  through 
the  porthole,  and  discovered  that  I  was  still 
alive  and  had  an  appetite  for  breakfast,  I  was 
as  thankful  a  private  sec.  as  ever  tore  open  a 
pay  envelope. 

By  the  time  I  got  dressed  and  found  that 
the  Agnes  was  doin'  only  the  gentle  wallow  act, 
with  the  wop  and  wiggle  left  out,  I  begun  to 
get  chesty.  I  decides  that  I'm  some  grand 
little  sailor  myself,  and  I  looks  around  for 
a  willin'  ear  that  I  can  whisper  the  news 
into. 

The  only  person  on  deck,  though,  is  Captain 


202  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

Rupert  Killam,  who's  pacin'  up  and  down, 
lookin'  mysterious,  as  usual. 

"Well,  Cap,"  says  I.  "Looked  like  it  was 
goin'  to  be  a  little  rough  for  a  spell  there  last 
night,  eh?" 

"Rough?"  says  he.  "Oh,  we  did  have  a 
little  bobble  off  Hatteras — just  a  bobble." 

"Huh!"  says  I.  "I  don't  expect  you'd 
admit  anything 's  happenin'  until  a  boat  begins 
to  turn  flip-flops.  Do  you  know,  Rupert,  there's 
times  when  you  make  me  sad  in  the  spine. 
Honest,  now,  you  didn't  invent  the  ocean,  did 


But  Rupert  just  stares  haughty  and  walks 
off. 

I've  been  afraid  all  along  he  didn't  appreci- 
ate me;  in  fact,  ever  since  he  first  showed  up 
at  the  Corrugated,  and  I  kidded  him  about  his 
buried  treasure  tale,  he's  looked  on  me  with 
a  cold  and  suspicious  eye. 

Course,  that's  his  specialty,  workin'  up 
suspicions.  He's  been  at  it  right  along,  ever 
since  the  Agnes  was  tied  loose  from  her  pier; 
and  outside  of  Auntie  and  Mr.  Ellins,  who  are 
backin'  this  treasure  hunt,  I  don't  think  there's 
a  single  party  aboard  that  he  hasn't  given  the 
sleuthy  once-over  to. 

I  understand  he  was  dead  set  against  takin* 
any  outsiders  along  from  the  first,  even  pro- 


TORCHY  HITS  THE  HIGH  SEAS     203 

testin'  against  Mrs.  Mumford  and  old  Professor 
Leonidas  Barr.  I  expect  his  merry  little  idea 
is  that  they  might  get  their  heads  together, 
steal  the  map  showin'  where  all  that  pirate 
gold  is  buried,  murder  the  rest  of  us,  and  dig 
up  the  loot  themselves.  Something  like  that. 

Anyway,  Rupert  is  always  snoopin'  around, 
bobbin'  out  unexpected  and  pussy-foptin'  up 
behind  you  when  you're  talkin'  to  anyone.  I 
didn't  notice  his  antics  the  first  day  or  so,  but 
after  that  he  sort  of  got  on  my  nerves — special- 
ly after  the  weather  quit  actin'  up  and  it  come 
off  warmer.  Then  folks  got  thicker  on  the 
rear  deck.  Mrs.  Mumford  with  her  crochet, 
Auntie  with  her  correspondence  pad,  the  Pro- 
fessor with  his  books,  and  so  on,  which  was 
why  me  and  Vee  took  to  huntin'  for  little  nooks 
where  we  could  have  private  chats.  You  know 
how  it  is. 

There  was  one  place  'way  up  in  the  bow, 
between  the  big  anchors,  and  another  on  the 
little  boat  deck,  right  back  of  the  bridge.  But, 
just  as  we'd  get  nicely  settled,  we'd  hear  a 
creak-creak,  and  here  would  come  Rupert 
nosing-  around. 

"Lookin'  for  anybody  special?"  I'd  ask  him. 

"Why — er — no,"  says  Rupert. 

"Then  you'll  find  'em  in  the  main  saloon," 
says  I,  "two  flights  down.  Mind  your  step." 


204  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

But  you  couldn't  discourage  Captain  Killam 
that  way.  Next  time  it  would  be  the  same  old 
story. 

"Of  all  the  gutta-percha  ears!"  says  I  to 
Vee.  "He  must  think  we're  plottin'  something 
deep." 

"Let's  pretend  we  are,"  says  Vee. 

"Or  give  him  a  steer  that'll  keep  him  busy, 
eh?"  says  I. 

So  you  see  it  started  innocent  enough.  I 
worked  out  the  details  durin'  the  night,  and 
next  mornin'  my  first  move  is  to  make  the 
plant.  First  I  hunts  up  Old  Hickory's  par- 
ticular friend,  J.  Dudley  Simms,  him  with  the 
starey  eyes  and  the  twisted  smile.  For  some 
reason  or  other,  Eupert  hadn't  bothered  him 
much.  Too  simple  in  the  face,  I  expect. 

But  Dudley  ain't  half  so  simple  as  he  looks 
or  listens.  In  his  own  particular  way  he  seems 
to  be  enjoyin'  this  yachtin'  trip  huge,  just 
Joafin*  around  elegant  in  his  white  flannels, 
smokin'  cigarettes  continual,  soppin'  up 
brandy-and-soda  at  reg'lar  intervals,  and  enter- 
tainin'  Mr.  Ellins  with  his  batty  remarks. 

The  only  thing  that  appears  to  bother 
Dudley  at  all  about  bein'  cut  off  this  way  from 
the  world  in  general  is  the  lack  of  a  stock  ticker 
aboard.  Seems  he'd  loaded  up  with  a  certain 
war  baby  before  sailin',  and  while  the  deal 


TOECHY  HITS  THE  HIGH  SEAS    205 

wouldn't  either  make  or  break  him,  he  had  a 
sportin'  interest  in  which  way  the  market  was 
waverin'. 

"Well,  how  do  you  guess  Consolidated 
Munitions  closed  yesterday?"  I  asks. 

Dudley  shakes  his  head  mournful. 

"I  dreamed  last  night  of  seeing  a  flock  of 
doves,"  says  he.  "That's  a  bad  sign.  I'd  give 
a  dollar  for  a  glimpse  at  a  morning  paper." 

"They  say  Charleston's  only  a  couple  hun- 
dred miles  off  there,"  says  I.  "If  it  wasn't  so 
soggy  walkin'  I'd  run  in  and  get  you  one." 

"No,"  says  he;  "you'd  be  late  for  breakfast. 
I  wonder  if  our  wireless  man  couldn't  get  in 
touch  with  some  of  the  shore  stations." 

"Sure  he  could,"  says  I,  "but  don't  let  on 
what  stock  you're  plungin'  on.  His  name's 
Meyers.  He's  a  hyphen,  you  know.  And  if 
he  got  wise  to  your  havin'  war-baby  shares 
he'd  likely  hold  out  on  you.  But  you  might 
jolly  him  into  gettin'  a  general  quotation  list. 
I'd  stick  around  this  forenoon  if  I  was  you." 

"By  Jove!"  says  J.  Dudley.  '"I  will." 

And  maybe  you  know  how  welcome  any  new 
way  of  killin'  time  can  be  when  you're  out  on 
a  boat  with  nothin'  doin'  but  three  or  four 
calls  to  grub  a  day.  Dudley  goes  it  strong.  He 
plants  himself  in  a  chair  just  outside  the  wire- 
less man's  little  coop,  and  begins  feedin' 


206  WILT  THOU  TORGHY 

Meyers  monogrammed  cigarettes  and  frivolous 
anecdotes  of  his  past  life. 

Havin'  the  scene  set  like  that  made  it  easy. 
All  I  has  to  do  is  sketch  out  the  plot  to  Vee 
and  wait  for  Rupert  to  come  gum-shoein' 
around. 

"Just  follow  my  lead,  that's  all,"  says  I, 
as  we  fixes  some  seat  cushions  in  the  shade  of 
one  of  the  lifeboats  on  the  upper  deck.  "And 
when  you  spot  him — " 

"He's  coming  up  now,"  whispers  Vee. 

"Then  here  goes  for  improvisin'  a  mys- 
tery," says  I.  "Is  he  near  enough?" 

Vee  glances  over  her  shoulder. 

"Go  on,"  says  she.  Then,  a  bit  louder: 
"Tell— tell  me  the  worst,  Torchy." 

"I  ain't  sure  yet,"  says  I,  "but  take  it  from 
me  there's  something  bein'  hatched  on  this 
yacht  besides  cold-storage  eggs." 

"Hatched?"  says  Vee. 

"S-s-s-sh!"  says  I.  "Underhanded  work; 
mutiny,  maybe." 

"0-o-o-oh!"  says  Vee,  givin'  a  little  squeal. 
"Who  could  do  anything  like  that?" 

"I'm  not  saying,"  says  I;  "but  there's  a 
certain  party  who  ain't  just  what  he  seems. 
You'd  never  guess,  either.  But  just  keep  your 
eye  on  J.  Dudley." 

"Wh-a-at!"  gasps  Vee.     "Mr.  Simms?" 


TORCHY  HITS  THE  HIGH  SEAS     207 

"Uh-huh,"  says  I.  "  Listen.  He  knows 
about  Nunca  Secos  Key,  don't  he?  And  about 
the  gold  and  jewels  there?" 

"That's  so,"  says  Vee.  "But  so  do  all  of 
us.  Only  we  don't  know  just  where  the  island 
is." 

1 1  Suppose  Dudley  had  buffaloed  Old  Hickory 
into  showin'  him  the  map?" 

"Well?"  demands  Vee. 

"Wouldn't  it  be  easy  enough,"  I  goes  on, 
"if  he  had  pals  ashore,  to  pass  on  the  descrip- 
tion, have  them  start  out  in  a  fast  yacht  from 
New  Orleans  or  Key  West,  and  beat  us  to  it  ? " 

"But  I  don't  see,"  says  Vee,  "how  he  could 
get  word  to  them." 

"Look!"  says  I,  pointin'  to  the  wireless 
gridiron  over  our  heads.  "Where  do  you 
guess  he  is  now?" 

Vee  shakes  her  head. 

"Gettin'  in  his  fine  work  with  Meyers,"  says 
I.  "He's  been  at  it  ever  since  breakfast." 

"Think  of  that!"  says  Vee.  "And  you 
believe  he  means  to — " 

"S-s-s-sh!"  says  I.  "Someone  might  be 
rubberin'." 

Does  it  work?  Say,  when  I  gets  up  to  scout 
around,  Rupert  has  disappeared,  and  for  the 
first  time  since  we've  been  aboard  he  leaves  us 
alone  for  the  rest  of  the  forenoon.  We  didn't 


208  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

hate  that  exactly.  Vee  reads  some  out  of  a 
book,  draws  sketches  of  me,  and  we  has  long 
talks  about — well,  about  a  lot  of  things. 

Anyway,  I'm  strong  for  this  yacht-cruisin' 
stuff  when  there's  no  Rupert  interference.  It's 
so  sort  of  chummy.  And  with  a  girl  like  Vee 
to  share  it  with — well,  I  don't  care  how  long 
it  lasts,  that's  all. 

And  the  next  thing  we  knows  there  goes  the 
luncheon  gong.  As  we  climbs  down  to  the 
main  deck  where  we  can  get  a  view  forward, 
Vee  gives  me  a  nudge  and  snickers.  J.  Dudley 
Simms  is  still  roostin'  alongside  the  wireless 
cabin;  and  just  beyond,  crouched  behind  a 
stanchion  with  one  ear  juttin'  out,  is  Captain 
Killam. 

1  'Fine!"  says  I.  " Rupert's  got  a  steady 
job,  eh?" 

About  then  the  other  folks  commence  mobil- 
izin'  for  a  drive  on  the  dinin'-room,  and 
someone  calls  Dudley  to  come  along. 

"Just  a  moment,"  says  he,  scribblin*  on  a 
pad.  "There!"  and  he  hands  a  message  over 
to  Meyers. 

"Ha,  ha!"  says  a  hoarse  voice  behind  him. 

Then  things  happened  quick.  Rupert  makes 
a  sudden  pounce.  He  grabs  Dudley,  pinnin' 
his  arms  to  his  sides,  and  starts  weavin'  a  rope 
around  him. 


TORCHY  HITS  THE  HIGH  SEAS     209 

"Oh,  I  say!"  says  Dudley.  "What  the 
deuce  ? ' ' 

"Traitor!"  hisses  Rupert  dramatic.  "You 
will,  will  you1?" 

J.  Dudley  may  look  like  a  Percy  boy,  too,  but 
he  ain't  one  to  stand  bein'  wrapped  up  like  a 
parcels-post  package,  or  for  the  hissin'  act — 
not  when  he's  in  the  dark  as  to  what  it's  all 
about.  He  just  naturally  cuts  loose  with  the 
rough  stuff  himself.  A  skillful  squirm  or  two, 
and  he  gets  his  elbows  loose.  Then,  when  he 
gets  a  close-up  of  who's  tryin'  to  snare  him, 
he  pushes  a  snappy  left  in  on  Rupert's  nose. 

"Go  away,  fellow!"  remarks  Dudley. 

"Snake  in  the  grass!"  says  Rupert. 

Then  they  clinched  and  begun  rollin'  over 
on  the  deck,  clawin'  each  other.  Course,  Mrs. 
Mumford  lets  out  a  few  frantic  squeals  and 
slumps  in  a  faint.  Professor  Leonidas  Barr 
starts  wringin'  his  hands  and  groanin',  "Oh, 
dear!  Oh,  dear,  dear!"  Auntie,  she  just 
stands  there  gaspin'  and  tryin'  to  unlimber 
her  lorgnette. 

As  for  Old  Hickory,  he  watches  the  pro- 
ceedin's  breathless  for  a  second  or  so  before 
he  can  make  out  what's  happenin'.  Then  he 
roars : 

"Hey,  stop  'em,  somebody!  Stop  'em,  I 
say!" 


210  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

That  listened  to  me  like  my  cue,  and  while 
I've  never  been  strong  for  mixin'  in  a  muss, 
I  jumped  into  this  one  lively.  And  between 
me  and  the  deck  steward  haulin'  one  way,  and 
Meyers  and  Mr.  Ellins  pullin'  the  other,  we 
finally  pries  'em  apart,  breathin'  hard  and 
glarin'  menacin'. 

"Now,  in  the  name  of  Mars,"  demands  Old 
Hickory,  "what  the  sulphuretted  syntax  is 
this  all  about?  Come,  Captain  Killam,  you 
started  this;  tell  us  why." 

"He — he's  a  traitor,  that's  why!"  pants 
Rupert,  pointin'  at  Dudley. 

"Bah!"  says  Old  Hickory.  "Whaddye  mean, 
traitor?" 

"He's  plotting  to  send  confederates  to 
Nunca  Secos  Key  before  we  get  there,"  says 
Rupert.  "Plotting  to  steal  our  buried  treasure. 
See !  He  was  just  sending  a  message  to  some 
of  his  gang." 

"Eh!"  snorts  Mr.  Ellins.     "A  message?" 

Meyers  fishes  it  out  of  his  pocket  and  hands 
it  over. 

"Huh!"  says  Old  Hickory,  puzzlin'  it  out. 
"  'Advise  how  infant  is  doing.  Send  care 
yacht  Agnes,  off  Charleston.'  Dudley,  what 
infant  is  this?" 

Dudley  grins  sheepish.  "Consolidated 
Munitions,"  says  he. 


TORCHY  HITS  THE  HIGH  SEAS     211 

"Oh!"  says  Old  Hickory.  "A  war  infant, 
eh?  I  see."  Then  he  whirls  on  Rupert.  "And 
by  what  idiotic  inference,  Killam,  did  you  con- 
jure up  this  rubbish  about  a  plot?" 

Rupert,  he  turns  and  stares  indignant  at  me. 
Old  Hickory  follows  the  accusin'  look,  and 
next  thing  I  know  I'm  in  the  spot  light  for 
fair. 

"Hah!"  observes  Mr.  Ellins.     "You,  eh?" 

Now,  there's  only  one  rule  I  got  for  dealin' 
with  the  big  boss.  I  stick  to  facts  and  make 
'em  snappy. 

"Uh-huh,"  says  I.     "Me." 

"You  thought  it  humorous,  I  presume,"  he 
goes  on,  "to  tell  this  silly  yarn  to  Captain 
Killam?" 

"But  he  didn't,"  speaks  up  Vee.  "He  was 
telling  it  to  me;  that  is,  we  were  telling  it  to 
each  other — making  it  up  as  we  went  along. 
So  there!" 

"Oh!"  says  Mr.  Ellins.  "And  the  Captain 
happened  to  overhear,  did  he?" 

"Happened!"  says  I.  "Like  you  happen  to 
climb  a  fire-escape.  That's  Rupert's  long  suit 
— overhearin'  things.  He's  been  favorin'  us 
a  lot  lately." 

"What  about  that,  Killam?"  asks  Mr.  Ellins. 

"Why — er — ah — "  stutters  Rupert,  "per- 
haps I  have.  But  when  you  see  two  persons 


212  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

getting  off  by  themselves  and  talking  so  much 
together,  you  naturally — " 

"Bah!"  explodes  Old  Hickory.  "Can't  you 
remember  back  to  nineteen,  Killam?"  Then 
he  turns  to  me.  "So  you  concocted  this  plot 
story  for  Captain  Killam's  benefit,  did  you?" 

I  nods. 

"I  thought  it  would  keep  him  off  our  heels 
for  a  while,"  says  I.  "I  fed  him  an  earful,  I 
guess." 

"Young  man,"  says  Mr.  Ellins,  shakin'  a 
forefinger  at  me,  but  lettin'  his  left  eyelid 
drop  knowin',  "the  next  time  I  find  that  imagi- 
nation of  yours  running  loose  I — I'll  authorize 
Captain  Killam  to  catch  it  and  put  it  in  irons. 
Now  let's  have  luncheon." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

WHEN    THE    NAVY    HORNED    IN 

ONE  thing  about  this  yacht-cruisin'  act  is 
how  close  a  line  you  get  on  the  people  you're 
shut  up  with.  Why,  this  cross-mated  bunch 
of  ours  hadn't  been  out  in  the  Agnes  more'n 
three  days  before  I  could  have  told  you  the 
life  hist'ry  of  'most  everyone  in  the  party. 

I  knew  that  the  late  Mr.  Mumford  had  been 
a  noble  soul  who  wore  full  face  lambrequins 
and  was  fussy  about  his  food.  From  the 
picture  Mrs.  Mumford  showed  Vee  and  me,  I 
judged  he  must  have  looked  like  an  upstate 
banker;  but  come  to  get  down  to  cases,  she 
admits  he  was  in  the  coal  and  lumber  business 
over  in  Montclair,  New  Jersey. 

About  J.  Dudley  Simms  I  dug  up  all  kinds 
of  information.  He'd  been  brought  up  by  an 
old  uncle  who'd  made  a  million  or  so  runnin' 
an  ale  brewery  and  who  had  a  merry  little 
dream  that  he  was  educatin'  J.  Dudley  to  be 
a  minister.  If  he'd  lasted  a  couple  of  years 
longer,  too,  it  would  have  been  the  Rev.  J. 
Dudley  Simms  for  a  fact;  but  when  uncle 

218 


214  WILT  THOU  TOECHY 

cashed  in,  Dudley  left  the  divinity  school  abrupt 
and  forgot  ever  to  go  back. 

I  even  discovered  that  Professor  Leonidas 
Barr,  the  fish  expert  and  Old  Hickory's  crib- 
bage  partner,  had  once  worked  in  a  shoe  store 
and  could  still  guess  the  size  of  a  young  lady's 
foot  by  lookin'  at  her  hands.  But  when  it  came 
to  collectin'  any  new  dope  about  Captain 
Killam,  he's  still  Rupert  the  Mysterious. 

Durin'  them  long  days  when  we  went 
churnin'  steady  and  monotonous  down  towards 
the  hook  end  of  Florida,  with  nothin'  happenin' 
but  sleep  and  meals,  'most  everybody  sort  of 
drifted  together  and  got  folksy.  Not  Rupert, 
though.  He  don't  forget  for  a  minute  that  he's 
conductin'  a  dark  and  desperate  hunt  for  pirate 
gold,  and  he  don't  seem  contented  unless  he's 
workiri'  at  it  every  hour  of  the  day. 

Course,  after  he's  pulled  that  break  of 
tacklin'  J.  Dudley  for  a  mutiny  plotter,  Old 
Hickory  shuts  down  on  his  sleuthin'  around  the 
decks,  so  he  takes  it  out  in  gazin'  suspicious 
at  the  horizon  through  a  pair  of  field  glasses 
he  always  wears  strapped  to  him.  Don't  seem 
to  cheer  him  up  any,  either,  to  have  me  ask  him 
frivolous  questions. 

"Can  you  spot  any  movie  shows  or  hot-dog 
wagons  out  there,  Cap'n?"  I  asks. 


WHEN  THE  NAVY  HORNED  IN     215 

He  just  glares  peevish  and  declines  to 
answer. 

"What  you  lookin'  for,  anyway?"  I  goes  on. 

"Nothing  I  care  to  discuss  with  you,  I 
think,"  says  he. 

"Bing-g-g,"  says  I.    "Eight  on  the  wrist!" 

And  then  all  of  a  sudden  Mrs.  Mumf ord  gets 
hipped  with  the  idea  that  Rupert  is  sort  of 
bein'  neglected.  Well,  trust  her.  She's  been 
a  sunshine  worker  and  a  social  uplifter  all  her 
life.  And  no  sooner  does  she  get  sympathizin' 
with  Rupert  than  she  starts  plannin'  ways  of 
chirkm'  him  up. 

"The  poor  dear  Captain!"  she  gurgles 
gushy.  "He  seems  so  lonely  and  sad.  Who 
knows  what  his  past  has  been,  how  many- 
dangers  he  has  faced,  what  ordeals  he  has  been 
through?  If  someone  could  only  get  him  to 
talk  about  them,  it  might  help." 

"Why  not  tackle  him,  then?"  says  I.  "No- 
body could  do  it  better  than  you." 

"Oh,  really  now!"  protests  Mrs.  Mumf  ord, 
duckin'  her  chin  kittenish.  "I — I  couldn't  do 
it  alone.  Perhaps,  though,  if  you  young  people 
would — " 

"Oh,  we  will;  won't  we,  Torchy?"  says  Vee. 

I  nods.  Inside  of  half  an  hour,  too,  we  had 
towed  Rupert  into  a  corner  beside  the  widow; 
and  had  him  surrounded. 


216  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

' 'Tell  me,  Captain,"  says  Mrs.  Mumford 
impulsive,  "have  you  not  led  a  most  romantic 
life?" 

Rupert  rolls  his  eyes  at  her  quick,  then 
steadies  'em  down  and  blinks  solemn.  Kind 
of  weird,  starey  eyes,  them  buttermilk  blue 
panes  of  his  are. 

"I — I  don't  say  much  about  it,  as  a  rule," 
says  he,  droppin'  his  eyelids  modest. 

"There!"  exclaims  Mrs.  Mumford.  "I  just 
knew  it  was  so.  One  daring  adventure  after 
another,  I  suppose,  with  no  thought  of  fear." 

"Oh,  I've  been  afraid  plenty  of  times,"  says 
Rupert,  "but  somehow  I —  Well,  I've  gone 
on." 

"Isn't  he  splendid?"  asks  Mrs.  Mumford, 
turnin'  to  us.  "Just  like  a  hero  in  a  book! 
But  we  would  like  to  know  from  the  very  be- 
ginning. As  a  boy,  now?" 

"There  wasn't  much,"  protests  Rupert. 
"You  see,  I  lived  in  a  little  town  in  southern 
Illinois.  Father  ran  a  general  store.  I  had  to 
help  in  it — sold  shingle  nails,  molasses,  mower 
teeth,  overalls.  How  I  hated  that !  But  there 
was  the  creek  and  the  muck  pond.  I  had  an  old 
boat.  I  played  smuggler  and  pirate.  I  used 
to  love  to  read  pirate  books.  I  wanted  to  go 
to  sea." 

"So  you  ran  away  and  became  a  sailor," 


WHEN  THE  NAVY  HORNED  IN    217 

adds  Mrs.  Mumford,  clappin'  her  hands 
enthusiastic. 

"I  planned  to  lots  of  times,"  says  Rupert, 
"but  father  made  me  go  through  the  academy. 
Then  afterwards  I  had  to  teach  school — in  a 
rough  district.  Once  some  big  boys  tried  to 
throw  me  into  a  snowdrift.  We  had  a  terrible 
fight." 

"It  must  have  been  awful,"  says  Mrs. 
Mumford.  "Those  big,  brutal  boys!  I  can 
just  see  them.  Did — did  you  kill  any  of  them?" 

"I  hit  one  on  the  nose  quite  hard,"  says 
Rupert.  "Then,  of  course,  I  had  to  give  up 
teaching.  I  meant  to  start  off  for  sea  that 
winter,  but  father  was  taken  sick.  Lungs,  you 
know.  So  we  sold  out  the  store  and  bought 
a  place  down  in  Florida,  an  orange  grove.  It 
was  on  the  west  coast,  near  the  Gulf.  * 

"That's  where  I  learned  to  sail.  And  after 
father  died  I  took  my  share  of  what  he  left  us 
and  bought  a  cruising  boat.  I  didn't  like  work- 
ing on  the  grove — messing  around  with  smelly 
fertilizer,  sawing  off  dead  limbs,  doing  all  that 
silly  spraying.  And  rny  brother  Jim  could  do 
it  so  much  better.  So  I  fished  and  took  out 
winter  tourists  on  excursions :  things  like  that. 
Summers  I'd  go  cruising  down  the  coast.  I 
would  be  gone  for  weeks  at  a  time.  I've  been 
out  in  some  fearful  storms,  too. 


218  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

"I  got  to  know  a  lot  of  strange  characters 
who  live  on  those  west  coast  keys.  They're 
bad,  some  of  them — kill  you  for  a  few  dollars. 
Others  are  real  friendly,  like  the  old  fellow  who 
told  me  about  the  buried  treasure.  He  was 
almost  dead  of  fever  when  I  found  him  in  his 
little  palmetto  shack.  I  got  medicine  for  him, 
stayed  until  he  was  well.  That's  why  he  told 
me  about  the  gold." 

'  *  Think  of  that ! ' '  says  Mrs.  Mumf  ord.  * ' He 
had  been  a  pirate  himself,  hadn't  he?" 

"Well,  hardly,"  says  Rupert.  "A  tinsmith, 
I  think  he  told  me.  He  was  a  tough  old  citizen, 
though — an  atheist  or  something  like  that. 
Very  profane.  Used  chewing  tobacco." 

Mrs.  Mumf  ord  shudders.  "And  you  were 
alone  with  such  a  desperado,  on  a  desert 
island!"  she  gasps,  rollin'  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  I  can  generally  look  out  for  myself," 
says  Rupert,  tappin'  his  hip  pocket. 

He  was  fairly  beamin',  Rupert  was,  for  Mrs. 
Mumf  ord  was  not  only  lettin'  him  write  his 
own  ticket,  but  was  biddin'  his  stock  above  par. 
And  all  the  rest  of  the  day  he  swells  around 
chesty,  starin*  out  at  the  ocean  as  important 
as  if  he  owned  it  all. 

"At  last,"  says  I,  "we  know  the  romance  of 
Rupert." 


WHEN  THE  NAVY  HOENED  IN     219 

"I  hope  it  doesn't  keep  me  awake  nights," 
says  Vee. 

"Look  at  the  bold,  bad  ex-school  teacher," 
says  I.  "Wonder  what  blood-curdlin'  mind 
plays  he's  indulgin'  in  now?  There!  He's 
unlimberin'  the  glasses  again." 

It  must  have  been  about  four  o'clock,  for  I 
remember  hearin'  eight  bells  strike  and  re- 
markin'  to  Vee  what  a  silly  way  that  was  to 
keep  track  of  time.  We  was  watchin'  Eupert 
go  through  his  Columbus-discoverin'-Staten- 
Island  motions,  and  I  was  workin'  up  some 
josh  to  hand  him,  when  he  comes  rushin'  back 
to  the  wireless  room.  No,  we  didn't  stretch  our 
ears  intentional,  and  if  we  sidled  up  under  the 
cabin  window  it  must  have  been  because  there 
was  a  couple  of  deck  chairs  spread  out  con- 
venient. 

"Isn't  that  some  kind  of  warship  off  there?" 
Captain  Killam  is  demandin'  of  Meyers. 

"Wait,"  says  the  operator,  fittin'  on  his  tin 
ear.  "He's  just  calling."  Then,  after  listenin' 
a  while,  he  announces :  * '  He  wants  to  know  who 
we  are." 

"Don't  answer,"  orders  Killam. 

"Oh,  all  right,"  says  Meyers,  and  goes  on 
listenin*.  Pretty  soon,  though,  he  gives  out 
another  bulletin. 

"It's  the  United  States  gunboat  Petrel,  and 


220  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

he's  demanding  who  and  what.  Real  snappy 
this  time.  Guess  I'd  better  flash  it  to  him,  eh?" 

''No,  no!"  says  Rupert.  "It's  no  business 
of  his.  This  is  a  private  yacht  bound  for  a 
home  port.  Let  him  whistle." 

It  struck  me  at  the  time  as  a  nutty  thing  to 
do,  but  of  course  I'm  no  judge.  I  had  a  hunch 
that  Rupert  was  registerin'  importance  and 
showin'  how  he  was  boss  of  the  expedition- 
something  he  hadn't  a  chance  to  get  over  before. 
It  ain't  long,  though,  before  Meyers  begins 
talkin'  like  he  was  uneasy. 

"He  wants  to  know,"  says  he,  "if  our  wire- 
less is  out  of  commission,  and  if  it  is  why  we 
don't  run  up  a  signal." 

"Bah!"  says  Rupert.  "These  naval  officers 
are  too  nosey.  It'll  do  this  one  good  if  we 
take  no  notice  of  him." 

"All  the  same,"  insists  Meyers,  "I  think 
Mr.  Ellins  and  the  Captain  ought  to  know 
what's  going  on." 

"Oh,  very  well,"  says  Rupert.  "I'll  call 
them  down  and  we'll  talk  it  over." 

Course,  we  had  to  clear  out  then,  for  it's  a 
secret  confab  of  the  whole  executive  committee 
that  develops,  includin'  Auntie.  But  we  got  a 
full  report  later.  It  seems  Rupert  was  skittish 
about  havin*  naval  officers  snoopin'  around  the 
yacht.  For  one  thing,  he  don't  want  'em  to 


WHEN  THE  NAVY  HORNED  IN     221 

find  out  that  this  is  a  treasure-huntin'  cruise, 
on  account  of  the  government's  bein'  apt  to 
hog  part  of  the  swag.  Then,  there's  all  them 
guns  stowed  away  below.  He  explains  how  this 
Petrel  is  a  slow  old  tub  that  he  don't  believe 
could  overhaul  the  Agnes  before  dark.  So  why 
not  make  a  run  for  it? 

The  reg'lar  yacht  captain  was  dead  against 
anything  like  that.  He  wouldn't  advise  mon- 
keyin'  with  the  United  States  Navy,  if  they  was 
askin'  him.  Better  chuck  the  guns  overboard. 
As  for  Old  Hickory,  he  was  sort  of  on  the  fence. 

Who  do  you  guess  it  was,  though,  that  stood 
out  for  makin'  the  nervy  getaway?  Auntie. 
Uh-huh !  All  this  panicky  talk  by  Meyers  and 
the  yacht  captain  only  warmed  up  her  sportin' 
blood.  What  right,  she  wanted  to  know,  had 
a  snippy  little  gunboat  to  hold  up  a  private 
party  of  perfectly  good  New  Yorkers  and  ask 
'em  where  they  was  goin'?  Humph!  What 
was  the  government,  anyway?  Just  a  lot  of 
cheap  officeholders  who  spent  their  time 
bothering  our  best  people  about  customs  duties 
and  income  taxes.  For  her  part,  she  didn't 
care  a  snap  about  the  navy.  If  the  Agnes  could 
get  away,  why  not  breeze  ahead? 

I  expect  that  proposition  must  have  appealed 
to  Old  Hickory,  for  he  swung  to  her  side  at  the 
last,  and  that's  the  way  it  was  settled.  They 


222  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

decided  to  make  no  bones  about  what  was  up. 
Mr.  Ellins  calls  us  together  and  makes  a  little 
speech,  sayin'  if  anybody  don't  like  the  pros- 
pect he's  sorry,  but  it  can't  be  helped. 

Then  the  crew  gets  busy.  Black  smoke  begins 
pourin'  out  of  the  stack  and  the  engines  are 
tuned  up  to  top  speed.  All  the  awnin's  are 
taken  in  and  every  flag  pulled  down.  The 
Agnes  proceeds  to  hump  herself,  too. 

" Twelve  knots,"  reports  Old  Hickory,  in- 
spectin'  the  patent  log.  "The  Captain  thinks 
he  can  get  fourteen  out  of  her.  The  Petrel's 
best  is  sixteen." 

"At  least,  we  have  a  good  start,"  says 
Auntie,  gazin'  off  where  a  thin  smudge  shows 
on  the  sky  line.  '  *  And  before  they  can  get  near 
enough  to  shoot  they  can't  see  us.  I  suppose 
they'd  be  just  impudent  enough  to  shoot  if  they 
could?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  says  Old  Hickory.  "We're  out- 
laws now,  you  know." 

"Who  cares?"  says  Auntie,  shruggin*  her 
shoulders. 

Say,  I  wasn't  so  much  surprised  at  Mr.  Ellins. 
He's  spent  most  of  his  life  slippin'  things  over 
on  the  government.  Auntie,  though !  A  steady, 
solemn  old  girl  with  her  pedigree  printed  in 
the  Social  Register.  You  wouldn't  have 
thought  it  of  her. 


WHEN  THE  NAVY  HORNED  IN     223 

''Some  plunger,  Auntie,  eh?"  says  I  to  Vee. 
"She  don't  seem  to  care  what  happens." 

"I  never  knew  she  could  be  so  reckless," 
says  Vee.  "  Getting  us  chased  by  a  warship  1 
Isn't  that  rather  dangerous,  Torchy?" 

"I  shouldn't  call  it  the  mildest  outdoor  sport 
there  was,"  says  I. 

"And  the  casual  way  she  talks  of  our  being 
shot  at — as  if  they'd  fire  tennis  balls!"  goes 
on  Vee. 

"I  didn't  care  for  that  part  of  the  conversa- 
tion myself,"  says  I.  "I'm  no  hero,  like 
Rupert.  If  there's  any  shootin'  takes  place, 
I'm  goin'  to  get  nervous.  I  feel  it  comin'  on." 

"You  don't  think  Auntie  and  Mr.  Ellins 
would  let  it  go  that  far,  do  you?"  asks  Vee. 

"It  would  be  just  like  Auntie  to  fire  back," 
says  I.  "What's  a  navy  more  or  less  to  her, 
when  she  gets  her  jaw  set?" 

"I — I  wish  I  hadn't  come  on  this  old  yacht," 
says  Vee. 

"If  I  could  row  you  ashore,"  says  I,  "I 
wouldn't  mind  stayin'  to  keep  you  company. 
Look!  That  smoke  off  there's  gettin'  nearer." 

If  Auntie  and  Old  Hickory  was  pinin'  for 
thrills,  it  looked  like  they  was  due  to  get  their 
wish.  Just  what  would  happen  in  case  the 
Agnes  was  run  down  nobody  seemed  to  know. 
The  only  thing  our  two  old  sports  was  inter- 


224  WILT  THOU  TOBCTTY 

ested  in  just  then  was  this  free-for-all  race. 

Anyway,  we  had  a  fine  evenin'  for  it.  The 
ocean  was  as  smooth  as  a  full  bathtub,  and 
all  tinted  up  in  pinks  and  purples,  like  one  of 
Belasco's  back  drops.  Off  over  the  bow  to  the 
right — excuse  me,  to  the  starboard — a  big, 
ruddy  sun  was  droppin'  slow  and  touchin'  up 
the  top  of  a  fluffy  pile  of  cottony  clouds  back 
of  us,  that  looked  like  they  was  balanced  right 
on  the  edge  of  things.  Bang  in  the  middle  of 
that  peaceful  background,  though,  was  this 
smear  of  black  smoke,  and  you  didn't  have  to 
be  any  marine  dill  pickle  to  tell  it  was  headed 
our  way. 

We  groups  ourselves  on  the  after  deck  and 
watches.  Everybody  that  could  annexes  a  pair 
of  field  glasses ;  but,  even  with  that  help,  about 
all  you  could  see  was  some  white  foam  piled 
up  against  a  gray  bow.  Now  and  then  Eupert 
announces  that  she's  gamin*  on  us,  and  Old 
Hickory  nods  his  head. 

"Only  an  hour  until  sunset,  though," 
Auntie  remarks. 

"I  suppose,"  suggests  Rupert,  "we  could 
change!  our  course  after  dark  and  slip  into 
Miami  Bay." 

"No,"  says  Old  Hickory,  waggin*  his  head 
stubborn.  "We  will  hold  our  course  right  down 
through  Florida  Straits.  We  ought  to  make 


WHEN  THE  NAVY  HORNED  IN     225 

Key  West  by  morning,  if  we're  not  over- 
hauled. ' ' 

"If !"  I  whispers  to  Vee. 

Dinner  was  announced,  but  for  once  there's 
no  grand  rush  below.  Mr.  Ellins  orders  a 
hand-out  meal  to  be  passed  around,  and  we 
fills  up  on  sandwiches  while  keepin'  watch  on 
that  black  smudge,  which  is  creepin'  closer  and 
closer.  Don't  take  long  for  it  to  get  dark  down 
in  this  part  of  the  country  after  the  sun  is 
doused,  but  the  stars  shine  mighty  bright.  On 
the  water,  too,  it  seems  so  much  lighter. 

Then  the  Petrel  turns  on  a  couple  of  search- 
lights. Course,  we  was  'way  out  of  range,  but 
somehow  it  seemed  like  them  swingin'  streaks 
of  light  was  goin'  to  reach  out  and  pick  us  up 
any  minute.  For  an  hour  or  so  we  watched 
'em  feelin'  for  us,  gettin'  a  bit  nearer,  reach- 
in'  and  swingin',  with  the  Agnes  strainin' 
herself  to  slip  away,  but  losin'  a  little  of  her 
lead  every  minute. 

Must  have  been  near  ten  o  'clock  when  Rupert 
announces  cheerful:  "By  George!  She's  fall- 
ing behind.  Those  searchlights  are  getting 
dimmer." 

"I  believe  you're  right,"  says  Old  Hickory. 

Half  an  hour  more  and  there  was  no  doubt 
about  it. 


226  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

1  i Humph!"  says  Auntie.  "I  was  sure  we 
we  could  do  it." 

And  Mr.  Ellins  is  so  tickled  that  he  orders 
up  a  couple  of  bottles  of  his  best  fizz,  so  all 
hands  can  drink  to  the  U.  S.  Navy. 

"Long  may  it  wave,"  says  J.  Dudley 
Simms,  "and  may  it  always  stick  to  its  new 
motto— Safety  First." 

He  got  quite  a  hand  on  that,  and  then  every- 
body turned  in  happy.  As  I  went  to  sleep  the 
Agnes  was  still  joggin'  along  at  her  best  gait, 
and  it  was  comfortin'  to  know  that  our 
wrathy  naval  friends  had  been  left  hope- 
lessly behind. 

I  expect  I  must  have  been  poundin'  my  ear 
real  industrious  for  five  or  six  hours  when  I 
hears  this  distant  boom,  and  comes  up  in  my 
berth  as  sudden  as  if  someone  had  pulled  the 
string.  Sunshine  was  streamin'  in  through  the 
porthole,  and  I  was  just  wonderin'  if  I'd  slept 
right  through  the  breakfast  gong  when  boom! 
it  came  again.  There 's  a  rush  of  feet  on  deck, 
some  panicky  remarks  from  the  man  up  in  the 
bow,  a  quick  clangin'  of  the  engine-room  bells, 
and  then  I  feels  the  propellers  reversed. 

"Good  night!"  says  I.  "Pinched  on  the 
high  seas!" 

I  didn't  waste  much  time  except  to  throw  on 
a  few  clothes ;  but,  at  that,  I  finds  Auntie  scrab- 


WHEN  THE  NAVY  HORNED  IN     227 

blin'  out  ahead  of  me  and  Captain  Killam 
already  on  deck.  She's  a  picturesque  old  girl, 
Auntie,  in  a  lavender  and  white  kimono  and  a 
boudoir  cap  to  match;  and  Rupert,  in  blue 
trousers  and  a  pajama  top,  hardly  looks  like 
a  triple-plated  hero. 

"Nabbed!"  gasps  Rupert,  starin'  over  the 
rail,  at  a  gray  gunboat  that's  just  roundin'  in 
towards  us.  It's  the  Petrel,  sure  enough. 

"The  idea!"  says  Auntie.  "They  were 
shooting  at  us ,  too,  weren't  they?  Of  all 
things ! ' ' 

Then  up  pads  Old  Hickory  in  a  low-necked 
silk  dressin'-gown,  with  his  gray  hair  all 
rumpled  and  a  heavy  crop  of  white  stubble  on 
his  solid  set  jaws. 

"Huh!"  says  he,  takin'  a  glance  at  the 
Petrel. 

That's  about  all  there  is  to  be  said,  too. 
For  it  was  odd  how  little  any  of  us  felt  like 
bein'  chatty.  We  just  stood  around  quiet  and 
watched  the  businesslike  motions  on  the  Petrel 
as  she  stops  about  a  block  off  and  proceeds  to 
drop  a  boat  into  the  water. 

Projectin'  prominent '  from  one  of  her  steel 
bay  windows  is  a  wicked-lookin'  gun  about  the 
size  of  a  young  water  main,  and  behind  it  a  lot 
of  jackies  squintin'  at  us  earnest.  And  you 
know  how  still  it  seems  on  a  boat  when  the 


228  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

engines  quit.  I  almost  jumps  when  someone 
whispers  in  my  ear.  It's  Vee. 

"Now  I  hope  Auntie's  satisfied,"  says  she. 

"There's  no  tellin'  about  her,"  says  I. 

Anyway,  she  wasn't  fannin'  herself,  or 
sniffin'  smellin'  salts.  I'd  noticed  her  hail  a 
deck  steward,  and  the  next  I  knew  she  was 
spoonin'  away  at  half  a  grapefruit,  as  calm 
as  you  please.  Mr.  Ellins  is  indulgin'  in  a  dry 
smoke.  Only  Mrs.  Mumford,  when  she  finally 
appears,  does  justice  to  the  situation.  She  rolls 
her  eyes,  hreathes  hard,  and  clutches  her 
crochet  bag  desperate. 

The  Petrel  people  were  takin'  their  time 
about  things.  After  they  got  the  boat  in  they 
had  to  let  down  some  side  stairs,  and  then  the 
sailors  waited  with  their  oars  ready  until  an 
officer  in  a  fresh  laundered  white  uniform 
gets  in  and  gives  the  signal  to  shove  off.  Our 
Captain  has  the  companionway  stairs  rigged, 
too,  and  there  ain't  a  word  passed  until  the 
naval  gent  comes  aboard.  He 's  rather  a  young- 
ish party,  with  a  round,  good-natured  face,  and 
he  seems  kind  of  amused  as  he  sizes  up  our 
bunch  in  their  early  mornin*  costumes. 

"Pardon  me,"  says  he,  touchin'  his  cap, 
"but  who  is  in  charge  of  this  yacht?" 

"I  suppose  I  am,"  says  Old  Hickory. 

"Not  a  bit  more  than  I,"  puts  in  Auntie. 


WHEN  THE  NAVY  HOENED  IN     229 

"And  I  want  to  tell  you  right  now,  young  man, 
that  I  consider  your  action  in  shooting  off  those 
guns  at  us  was — " 

"I  presume  you  recognize  the  United  States 
Navy,  madam?"  breaks  in  the  officer. 

"Not  necessarily,"  snaps  Auntie.  "I  don't 
in  the  least  see  why  we  should,  I'm  sure." 

"Certainly  we  do,"  corrects  Old  Hickory. 
"But,  as  Mrs.  Hemmingway  observes,  we  dis- 
like to  be  shot  at." 

"Even  though  you  couldn't  hit  us,"  adds 
Auntie. 

The  officer  grins. 

"Oh,  our  gunners  aren't  as  bad  as  that," 
says  he.  "We  were  merely  shooting  across 
your  bows,  you  know.  I  am  Lieutenant  Com- 
mander Faulhaber,  and  it  is  part  of  my  duty 
to  overhaul  and  inspect  any  suspicious  acting 
craft." 

"Why  didn't  you  do  it  last  night,  then?" 
demands  Auntie. 

"Because  we  blew  out  a  cylinder  gasket," 
says  he.  "The  Petrel  isn't  a  new  boat,  by  any 
means,  and  hardly  in  first-class  shape.  But 
we  managed  to  patch  her  up,  you  see." 

"Humph!"  says  Auntie. 

Honest,  I  was  almost  sorry  for  that  naval 
gent  before  she  got  through  with  him,  for  she 
sure  did  state  her  opinion,  free  and  forcible,  of 


230  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

his  holdin'  us  up  this  way.  He  stands  and  takes 
it,  too,  until  she's  all  through. 

"Sorry  you  feel  that  way  about  it,"  says 
he,  but  I  shall  be  obliged  to  make  a  thorough 
search  of  this  boat,  nevertheless.  Also  I  shall 
require  an  explanation  as  to  why  you  dis- 
regarded my  wireless  orders.  Unless  you  can 
satisfy  me  that — " 

It's  about  there  this  cheery  hail  comes  from 
J.  Dudley  Simms,  who  is  just  appearin'  from 
his  stateroom,  all  dolled  up  complete  in  white 
flannels. 

"By  Jove!"  he  sings  out.  "If  it  isn't 
Folly.  How  are  you,  old  man?" 

The  lieutenant  commander  swings  around 
with  a  pleased  look. 

"Why — er — that  you,  Dud,  old  chap?  Say, 
what  are  you  these  days?  Blockade  runner, 
smuggler,  or  what?" 

"You're  warm,  Folly,  you're  warm!"  says 
Dudley.  "Hunting  for  buried  treasure,  that's 
our  game — pirate  gold — all  that  sort  of  thing. ' ' 

And  say,  in  less  than  two  shakes  he's  given 
the  whole  snap  away,  in  spite  of  Old  Hickory 
scowlin'  and  Auntie  glarin'  like  she  meant  to 
murder  him  with  her  grapefruit  spoon. 

But  the  news  don't  seem  to  impress  Lieu- 
tenant Commander  Faulhaber  very  serious. 

"Not   really?"    says   he,   chucklin'.     "Oh! 


WHEN  THE  NAVY  HORNED  IN     231 

Then  that's  the  reason  for  all  this  mystery? 
Treasure  hunting!  Well,  well!"  And  he  grins 
more  expansive  than  ever  as  he  takes  another 
look  around. 

Next  he's  introduced  proper  to  everybody, 
and  inside  of  ten  minutes  we're  all  sitting 
down  to  breakfast  together,  while  J.  Dudley 
explains  how  him  and  Folly  has  been  lifelong 
chums. 

So  we  didn't  get  pinched,  after  all. 

" Although,"  says  the  lieutenant  commander, 
as  he  starts  back  towards  the  Petrel,  "I  sup- 
pose I  ought  to  fine  you  for  exceeding  the  speed 
limit." 

The  Agnes  has  got  under  way  again,  and 
we'd  stopped  wavin'  good-by  to  the  jackies, 
when  I  catches  a  glimpse  of  a  head  bein'  poked 
cautious  out  from  under  the  canvas  cover  of 
one  of  our  lifeboats.  Nudgin*  Yee  to  look,  I 
steps  up  to  Mr.  Ellins,  who's  talkin'  with 
Auntie  and  Mrs.  Mumford,  and  points  out  my 
discovery.  By  that  time  the  head  has  been 
followed  by  a  pair  of  shoulders. 

Old  Hickory  just  narrows  his  eyes  and  stares. 

1  'Why!"  gasps  Mrs.  Mumford,  "it — it's 
Captain  Killam!" 

"Yep!"  says  I.  "Rupert  the  Reckless. 
Only  this  trip  he  seems  to  be  playin'  it  safe, 
eh?" 


232  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

11  In  hiding  I"  says  Auntie.  ''All  the  time, 
too!" 

"Huh!"  grunts  Old  Hickory,  watchin' 
Killam  crawl  out  and  slip  around  a  corner. 
But  say,  Mr.  Ellins  can  make  that  "Huh!"  of 
his  mean  a  lot.  He  knows  when  he's  been 
buffaloed,  take  it  from  me.  My  guess  is  that 
Rupert's  stock  is  in  for  a  bad  slump.  I'd  quote 
him  about  thirty  off  and  no  bids. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

AUNTIE  TAKES  A  NIGHT  OFF 

IT  looked  like  a  case  of  watchin'  out  for  the 
stick  to  come  down.  TJh-liuli !  The  good  yacht 
Agnes  had  been  tied  to  her  anchor  less  than 
half  a  day  when  this  grand  treasure-huntin' 
expedition  of  ours  showed  symptoms  of  col- 
lapse. It  was  weak  in  the  knees,  groggy  in  its 
motions,  and  had  fur  on  its  tongue.  If  there 'd 
ever  been  any  stock  issued  by  the  Ellins- 
Hemmingway  Exploration  and  Development 
Company,  I'll  bet  you  could  have  bought  in  a 
controllin'  interest  for  two  stacks  of  cigarette 
coupons  and  a  handful  of  assorted  campaign 
buttons. 

You  see,  Old  Hickory  and  Auntie  had  hung 
all  their  bright  hopes  on  this  Captain  Rupert 
Killam.  They'd  listened  to  his  tale  about  a 
secret  mangrove  island  with  a  gold  and  jewel 
stuffed  mound  in  the  middle,  and  they'd  taken 
it  right  off  the  fork.  His  mysterious  and 
romantic  motions  had  them  completely  buffa- 
loed— at  first. 

But  on  the  way  down  here  Rupert's  reputa- 

233 


234  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

tion  as  a  bold,  bad  adventurer  had  gradually 
been  oozin'  away,  like  a  slow  air  leak  from  a 
tire.  His  last  play  of  hidin'  his  head  when  the 
Agnes  had  been  held  up  by  a  gunboat  had  got 
'most  everybody  aboard  lookin'  squint-eyed  at 
him.  Even  Mrs.  Mumford  had  crossed  him  off 
her  hero  list. 

Just  what  his  final  fluke  was  I'm  only  givin* 
a  guess  at,  but  I  judge  that  when  Mr.  Ellins 
called  on  him  to  point  out  the  pirate  hoard, 
now  we  were  right  on  the  ground,  Rupert  begun 
stallin7  him  off.  Anyway,  I  saw  'em  havin'  a 
little  private  session  'way  up  in  the  bow  soon 
after  we  got  the  hook  down.  By  the  set  of  Old 
Hickory's  jaw  I  knew  he  was  puttin'  something 
straight  up  to  Rupert.  And  the  Cap,  he  points 
first  one  way,  then  the  other,  endin'  by  diggin' 
up  a  chart  and  gazin'  at  it  vague. 

"Huh!"  grunts  Old  Hickory. 

I  could  hear  that  clear  back  by  the  bridge, 
where  Vee  and  I  were  leanin'  over  the  rail 
watchin'  for  flym'-fish.  Also  we  are  within 
ear-stretchin'  distance  when  he  makes  his 
report  to  Auntie. 

"Somewhere  around  here — he  thinks,"  says 
Mr.  Ellins.  "Says  he  needs  a  day  or  so  to  get 
his  bearings.  Meanwhile  he  wants  us  to  go 
fishing. ' ' 

"Fish!"  sniffs  Auntie.    "I  shall  certainly  do 


AUNTIE  TAKES  A  NIGHT  OFF     235 

nothing  of  the  sort.  I  want  to  tell  you  right 
here,  too,  that  I  am  not  going  to  humor  that 
absurd  person  any  more." 

" Isn't  he  just  as  wise  as  he  was  when  you 
lured  him  away  from  the  hotel  where  I'd  put 
him?"  asks  Old  Hickory  sarcastic. 

"I  supposed  you  had  a  little  sense  then  your- 
self, Matthew  Ellins,"  Auntie  raps  back  at 
him. 

"You  natter  me,"  says  Old  Hickory,  bowin' 
stiff  and  marchin'  off  huffy. 

After  which  they  both  registers  glum, 
injured  looks.  A  close-up  of  either  of  'em 
would  have  soured  a  can  of  condensed  milk, 
especially  whenever  Captain  Rupert  Killam 
took  a  chance  on  showin'  himself.  And  Rupert, 
he  was  wise  to  the  situation.  He  couldn't  help 
being.  He  takes  it  hard,  too.  All  his  chesty, 
important  airs  are  gone.  He  skulks  around 
like  a  stray  pup  that's  dodgin'  the  dog-catcher. 

You  see,  when  he'd  worked  off  that  buried 
treasure  bunk  in  New  York  it  had  listened  sort 
of  convincin'.  He'd  got  away  with  it,  there 
being  nobody  qualified  to  drop  the  flag  on  him. 
But  down  here  on  the  west  coast  of  Florida, 
right  where  he'd  located  the  scene,  it  was  his 
cue  to  ditch  the  prospectus  gag  and  produce 
something  real.  And  he  couldn't.  That  is,  he 
hadn't  up  to  date.  Old  Hickory  ain't  the  one 


236  WILT  THOU  TOECHY 

to  put  up  with  any  pussy-footin'.  Nor  Auntie, 
either.  When  they  ain't  satisfied  with  things 
they  have  a  habit  of  lettin '  folks  know  just  how 
they  feel. 

Hence  this  area  of  low  pressure  that  seems 
to  center  around  the  Agnes.  Old  Hickory  is 
off  in  one  end  of  the  boat,  puffin'  at  his  cigar 
savage;  Auntie's  at  the  other,  glarin'  into  a 
book  she's  pretendin'  to  read;  Mrs.  Mumford 
is  crochetin'  silent;  Professor  Leonidas  Barr 
is  riggin'  up  some  kind  of  a  scientific  dip  net; 
J.  Dudley  Simms  is  down  in  the  main  saloon 
playin'  solitaire;  and  Rupert  sticks  to  the 
upper  deck,  where  he's  out  of  the  way. 

Vee  and  me  ?  Oh,  we  got  hold  of  a  map,  and 
was  tryin'  to  locate  just  where  we  were. 

"See,  that  must  be  Sanibel  Island — the  long 
green  streak  off  there,"  says  she,  tracin'  it  out 
with  a  pink  forefinger.  "And  that  is  Pine 
Island  Sound,  with  the  Caloos — Caloosa— 

"Now  sneeze  and  you'll  get  the  rest  of  it," 
says  I. 

"  Caloosahatchee.  There!"  says  she. 
"What  a  name  to  give  a  river!  But  isn't  it 
wonderful  down  here,  Torchy?" 

"Perfectly  swell,  so  far  as  the  scenery  goes," 
says  I. 

Course,  it's  a  good,  deal  like  this  79-cent 


AUNTIE  TAKES  A  NIGHT  OFF     237 

pastel  art  stuff  you  see  in  the  Sixth  Avenue 
department  stores.  The  water  looks  like  it 
had  been  laid  on  by  Bohemian  glass  blowers 
who  didn't  care  how  many  colors  they  used. 
The  little  islands  near  by,  with  clumps  of 
feather-duster  palms  stickin'  up  from  'em,  was 
a  bit  stagey  and  artificial.  The  far-off  shores 
was  too  vivid  a  green  to  be  true,  and  the  high 
white  clouds  was  the  impossible  kind  that 
Maxfield  Parrish  puts  on  magazine  covers. 
And,  with  that  dazzlin'  sun  blazin'  overhead 
it  all  made  your  eyes  blink. 

Even  the  birds  don't  seem  real.  Not  far 
from  us  was  a  row  of  these  here  pelicans — 
foolish  things  with  bills  a  yard  long  and  so 
heavy  they  have  to  rest  'em  on  their  necks. 
They're  all  strung  out  along  the  edge  of  the 
channel,  havin'  a  fish  gorge.  And,  believe  me, 
when  a  pelican  goes  fishin'  he  don't  make  any 
false  moves.  He'll  sit  there  squintin'  solemn 
at  the  water  as  if  he  was  sayin'  his  prayers, 
then  all  of  a  sudden  he'll  make  a  jab  with  that 
face  extension  of  his,  and  when  he  pulls  it  out 
and  tosses  it  up  you  can  bet  your  last  jitney  he's 
added  something  substantial  to  the  larder. 
One  gulp  and  it's  all  over.  I  watched  one 
old  bird  tuck  away  about  ten  fish  in  as  many 
minutes. 

"Gee!"  says  I.    "Every  day  is  Friday  with 


238  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

him.  Or  maybe  he's  got  a  contract  to  supply 
Fulton  Market." 

The  entertainin'  part  of  the  performance, 
though,  was  when  the  bunch  took  it  into  their 
heads  to  move  on,  and  started  to  fly.  They've 
got  little  short  legs  and  wide  feet  that  they 
flop  back  and  forth  foolish,  like  they  was  tryin' 
to  kick  themselves  out  of  the  water.  They 
make  a  getaway  about  as  graceful  as  a  cow 
tryin'  the  fox  trot.  But  say,  once  they  get 
goin',  with  them  big  wings  planed  against  the 
breeze,  they  can  do  the  soar  act  something 
grand.  And  dive!  One  of  'em  doin'  a  hun- 
dred-foot straight  down  plunge  has  got  An- 
nette lookin'  like  a  plumber  fallin'  off  a  roof 
backwards. 

No,  there  wasn't  any  gloom  around  our  side 
of  the  yacht,  though  I'll  admit  it  don't  take 
much  of  a  program  to  keep  me  amused  while 
Vee  has  the  next  orchestra  chair  to  mine.  We 
took  no  notice  of  anybody's  grouch,  and 
whether  or  not  there  was  any  pirate  gold  in 
the  neighborhood  was  a  question  we  didn't 
waste  thought  on.  We  knew  there  wouldn't  be 
anything  in  it  for  us,  even  if  there  was. 

When  the  word  was  passed  around  that  any- 
body that  wanted  to  might  get  out  and  fish, 
we  was  the  first  to  volunteer.  Seems  this  had 
been  the  scheme  right  along — that  our  party 


AUNTIE  TAKES  A  NIGHT  OFF     239 

was  to  do  more  or  less  fishin',  so  as  to  give  any 
natives  that  might  be  hangin'  around  the 
proper  idea  of  why  we  was  there. 

Professor  Barr  is  right  on  hand,  too;  and 
Dudley  tries  it  just  to  kill  time.  We  did  have 
more  or  less  luck,  and  got  quite  excited.  Vee 
pulls  in  something  all  striped  up  like  a  hat- 
band, and  one  that  I  hooked  blew  himself  up 
into  a  reg'lar  football  after  I  landed  him  in  the 
bottom  of  the  boat.  The  Professor  had  jaw- 
breakin'  names  for  everything  we  caught,  but 
he  couldn't  say  whether  they  was  good  to  eat 
or  not.  The  yacht  cook  wouldn  't  take  a  chance 
on  any  of  them.  It  was  good  sport,  though, 
and  we  all  collected  a  fresh  coat  of  sunburn. 
And  say,  with  them  new  tints  in  her  cheeks, 
maybe  Vee  ain't  some  ornamental.  But  then, 
she's  easy  to  look  at  anyway. 

It  was  this  same  evenin',  the  second  we'd 
been  anchored  quiet  in  behind  this  lengthy 
island,  that  the  big  three  of  our  expedition  gets 
together  again.  First  I  knew,  I  saw  'em 
grouped  along  the  side  where  the  companion- 
way  stairs  was  swung — Auntie,  Old  Hickory, 
and  Captan  Killam.  Rupert  seems  to  be 
explainin'  something.  Then  in  a  minute  or 
two  the  men  begin  easin'  Auntie  down  into  one 
of  the  launches  tied  to  the  boat  boom,  and  the 
next  I  see  them  go  chuggin'  off  into  the  moon- 


240  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

light.    I  hunts  up  Vee  and  passes  her  the  word. 

"What  do  you  know  about  that?"  says  I. 
"Pikin'  off  for  a  joy  rid.e  all  by  their  three- 
somes ! ' ' 

"I  suppose  Captain  Killam  has  found  where 
his  treasure  island  is,"  says  Vee,  "and  is  going 
to  put  it  on  exhibition.  You  know,  he  was  out 
by  himself  ever  so  long  to-day." 

"He  ought  to  be  able  to  pick  out  something 
likely  from  among  all  of  these,"  says  I. 
"Islands  is  what  this  country  seems  to  be  long 
on.  And  they  got  a  spiffy  night  for  it,  ain't 
they?" 

"I  think  Auntie  might  have  taken  us  along," 
says  Vee,  a  bit  pouty. 

nWe're  no  treasure  hunters,"  I  reminds 
her.  "We're  just  to  help  out  the  pleasure- 
cruisin'  bluff.  Who  there  is  to  put  it  over  on  I 
don't  quite  catch,  though.  Ain't  there  any 
population  in  this  part  of  the  map  ! ' ' 

Vee  thinks  she  can  see  a  light  'way  up  the 
shore  on  Sanibel  and  another  off  towards  the 
mainland;  but  the  fact  remains  that  here's  a 
whole  lot  of  perfectly  good  moonlight  goin' 
to  waste. 

"If  one  of  the  iron  steamboats  could  only 
wander  down  here  with  a  Coney  Island  mob 
aboard,"  says  I,  "wouldn't  they  just  eat  this 
up?  Think  of  'em  dancin'  on  the  decks  and — 


AUNTIE  TAKES  A  NIGHT  OFF     241 

Say,  what's  the  matter  with  our  startin'  a  little 
something  like  that?" 

" Let's!"  says  Vee. 

So  we  had  a  deck  steward  lug  the  music 
machine  up  out  of  the  cabin,  set  J.  Dudley  to 
work  puttin'  on  dance  records,  and,  with  Mrs. 
Mumford  and  the  Professor  and  half  the  crew 
for  a  gallery,  we  gave  an  exhibition  spiel  for 
an  hour  or  so.  I  hope  they  got  as  much  fun 
out  of  it  as  we  did.  Anyway,  it  tapped  the 
long,  long  ago  for  Mrs.  Mumford.  I  heard  her 
turnin'  on  the  sob  spigot  for  the  Professor. 

"Poor,  dear  Mr.  Mumford!"  she  sighs. 
"How  he  did  love  dancing  with  me.  And 
how  wonderfully  he  could  polka ! ' ' 

' '  She 's  off  again ! "  I  whispers  to  Vee. 

So  we  drifts  forward  as  far  away  from  this 
monologue  about  the  dear  departed  as  we  could 
get.  Not  that  we  didn't  appreciate  hearm* 
intimate  details  about  the  late  Mr.  Mumford. 
We  did— the  first  two  or  three  times.  After 
that  it  was  more  entertainin'  to  look  at  the 
moon. 

For  my  part,  I  could  have  stood  a  few  more 
hours  of  that;  but  about  ten  o'clock  Mrs.  Mum- 
ford's  voice  gives  out,  or  she  gets  to  the  end  of 
a  chapter.  Anyway,  she  informs  us  cheerful 
that  it's  time  young  folks  was  gettin'  in  their 
beauty  sleep ;  so  Vee  goes  off  to  her  stateroom, 


242  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

and  after  I've  helped  J.  Dudley  Simms  burn 
up  a  couple  of  his  special  cork-tipped  Russians, 
I  turns  in  myself. 

Didn't  seem  like  I'd  been  poundin'  my  ear 
more'n  half  an  hour,  and  I  was  dreamin'  some- 
thing lovely  about  doin'  one  of  them  pelican 
dives  off  a  pink  cotton  cloud,  when  I  feels  some- 
one shakin'  me  by  the  shoulder.  I  pries  my 
eyes  open,  and  finds  one  of  the  crew  standin' 
over  me,  urgin'  me  to  get  up. 

"Wrong  number,  Jack,"  says  I.  "I  ain't  on 
the  night  shift." 

"It's  the  young  lady,  sir,"  says  he.  "You're 
to  dress  and  come  on  deck." 

"Eh?"  says  I.  "Have  we  been  U-boated 
or  Zepped?  All  right;  I'll  be  there  in  two 
minutes." 

And  I  finds  Vee  costumed  businesslike  in  a 
middy  blouse  and  khaki  skirt,  stowin'  things 
away  in  a  picnic  hamper. 

"What's  the  plot  of  the  piece?"  I  asks, 
yawny. 

"Auntie  and  Mr.  Ellins  haven't  come  back 
yet,"  says  she.  "It's  after  three  o'clock. 
Something  must  have  happened." 

"But  Captain  Killam  is  with  'em,"  says  I. 

"What  use  is  he,  I'd  like  to  know?  Torchy, 
we  must  go  and  find  them." 

"But  I  don't  know  any  more  about  runnin* 


AUNTIE  TAKES  A  NIGHT  OFF     243 

a  motor-boat  than  I  do  about  playin'  a  trom- 
bone," I  protests. 

"I  do,"  says  Vee.  "I  learned  in  Bermuda 
one  winter.  I  have  coffee  and  sandwiches  here. 
They'll  be  hungry." 

"Better  put  in  some  cigars  for  Mr.  Ellins," 
says  I.  "If  he's  run  out  of  smokes  I'd  rather 
not  find  him." 

"Get  cigars,  then,"  says  she.  "I  have  the 
small  launch  all  ready." 

"How  about  taking  one  of  the  crew?"  I 
suggests. 

"Bother!"  says  Vee.  "Besides,  they've  seen 
sharks  and  are  all  frightened.  I'm  not  afraid 
of  sharks." 

You  bet  she  wasn't ;  nor  of  being  out  at  night, 
nor  of  startin'  a  strange  engine.  You  should 
have  seen  her  spin  that  wheel  and  juggle  the 
tiller  ropes.  Some  girl ! 

"Got  any  clew  as  to  where  they  are?"  I  asks. 

"Only  the  general  direction  they  took,"  says 
she.  "But  something  must  be  done.  Think  of 
Auntie  being  out  at  this  hour!  When  we  get 
past  those  little  islands  we'll  begin  blowing 
the  horn." 

It  was  sort  of  weird,  take  it  from  me, 
moseyin'  off  that  way  at  night  into  a  tangle  of 
islands  without  any  signs  up  to  tell  you  which 
way  you  was  goin',  or  anybody  in  sight  to  ask 


244  WILT  THOU  TOECHY 

directions  of.  The  moon  was  still  doin'  busi- 
ness, but  it  was  droppin'  lower  every  minute. 
Vee  just  stands  there  calm,  though,  rollin'  the 
wheel  scientific,  pickin'  out  the  deep  water  by 
the  difference  in  color,  and  lettin'  the  Agnes 
fade  away  behind  us  as  careless  as  if  we  had  a 
return  ticket. 

"Excuse  me  for  remarking"  says  I;  "but, 
while  I  wouldn't  be  strong  for  this  sort  of 
excursion  as  a  general  thing,  with  just  you  and 
me  on  the  passenger  list  I  don't  care  if — " 

"Blow  the  horn,"  cuts  in  Vee. 

Yep,  I  blew.  Over  miles  and  miles  of  glassy 
water  I  blew  it,  listenin'  every  now  and  then 
for  an  answer.  All  I  raised,  though,  was  a 
bird  squawk  or  so;  and  once  we  scared  up  a 
flock  of  white  herons  that  sailed  off  like  so 
many  ghosts.  Another  time  some  big  black 
things  rolled  out  of  the  way  almost  alongside. 

"What's  them — whales?"  I  gasps. 

"Porpoises,"  says  Vee.  "Keep  on  blowing." 

"I'll  be  qualified  as  captain  of  a  fish  wagon 
before  I'm  through,"  says  I.  "Looks  like  that 
explorin'  trio  had  gone  and  lost  themselves  for 
fair,  don't  it?" 

"They  must  be  somewhere  among  these 
islands,"  says  Vee.  "They  couldn't  have  gone 
out  on  the  Gulf,  could  they?" 

We  asked  each  other  a  lot  of  questions  that 


AUNTIE  TAKES  A  NIGHT  OFF     245 

neither  one  of  us  knew  the  answer  to.  It  sort 
of  helped  pass  the  time.  And  we  certainly  did 
do  a  thorough  job  of  paging,  for  we  cruised  in 
and  out  of  every  little  cove,  and  around  every 
point  we  came  to;  and  I  kept  the  horn  goin' 
until  I  was  as  shy  on  breath  as  a  fat  lady  comin' 
out  of  the  subway. 

It  was  while  I  was  restin'  a  bit  that  I  got  to 
explorin'  one  of  the  boat  lockers,  and  dug  up 
this  Roman-candle  affair  that  Vee  said  I  might 
touch  off.  And  it  hadn't  burned  half  way  down 
before  I  spots  an  answer  in'  glow  'way  off  to 
the  left. 

"We've  raised  someone,  anyway,"  says  I. 

"We'll  know  who  it  is  soon,"  says  Vee, 
turnin'  the  wheel. 

Five  minutes  later  and  we  got  a  reply  to  our 
horn — four  long  blasts. 

"That  means  distress,"  says  Vee.  "Answer 
with  three  short  ones." 

A  mile  or  so  further  on,  as  we  swings  wide 
around  the  end  of  an  island  where  a  shoal 
sticks  out,  we  comes  in  sight  of  this  big  motor- 
boat  lyin'  quiet  a  couple  of  hundred  feet  off- 
shore with  three  people  in  it. 

"There  they  are,  thank  goodness !"  says  Vee, 
shuttin'  off  the  engine  and  lettin'  the  boat  drift 
in  towards  'em  slow. 

"Hello,  there!"  I  calls  out. 


246  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

1  'That  you,  Torchy?"  asks  Old  Hickory, 
anxious. 

"Yep!"  says  I.    "He  and  Vee." 

"Bully  for  you  youngsters!"  says  he.  "I 
might  have  known  it  would  be  you  two  who 
would  find  us." 

"Verona,  I  am  astonished,"  gasps  Auntie. 

"Yes,  I  thought  you  would  be,"  says  Vee. 
"What's  the  matter?" 

"Matter!"  snaps  Auntie.  "We're  stuck  in 
the  mud,  and  have  been  for  hours.  Look  out  or 
you'll  run  aground,  too." 

But  our  boat  wasn't  half  the  size  of  theirs, 
and  by  polin'  careful  we  got  alongside. 

My  first  move  is  to  reach  a  handful  of  cigars 
to  the  boss. 

"Heaven  be  praised!"  says  he,  lightin'  one 
up  eager. 

Meanwhile  Vee  is  pourin'  out  some  hot 
coffee  from  the  picnic  bottles.  That  and  the 
sandwiches  seemed  to  sort  of  soothe  things  all 
around,  and  we  got  a  sketch  of  their  troubles. 

Just  as  Vee  had  suspected,  Eupert  had 
started  out  to  show  'em  the  island  where  the 
treasure  was.  Oh,  he  was  sure  he  could  take 
'em  right  to  it. 

"And  we  went  blithering  and  blundering 
around  for  half  the  night,"  says  Old  Hickory, 
"until  this  marvel  of  marine  intelligence  ran 


AUNTIE  TAKES  A  NIGHT  OFF     247 

us  hard  and  fast  aground  here,  where  we've 
been  ever  since." 

"I — I  got  turned  around,"  protests  Rupert. 

"We  admit  that,"  says  Old  Hickory.  "I  will 
even  concede  that  you  are  swivel-brained  and 
couldn't  help  it.  But  that  fails  to  explain  why 
you  should  invent  for  our  benefit  any  such 
colossal  whopper  as  that  treasure  -  island 
fiction. ' ' 

"No  fiction  about  it,"  grumbles  Rupert,  his 
voice  a  bit  husky,  either  from  indignation  or 
chicken  sandwich,  we  couldn't  tell  which.  "And 
I '11  find  it  yet,"  he  adds. 

"You  will  have  ample  opportunity,"  says 
Old  Hickory,  ' l  for  when  we  leave  here  you  will 
be  left  also.  You  may  make  a  life  job  of  it, 
if  you  wish. ' ' 

"We  ought  to  be  getting  back,"  says  Auntie. 
"Will  that  little  boat  hold  us  all?" 

"Why,  this  one  is  afloat  now,"  announces 
Vee.  "The  tide  must  have  come  in." 

"And  here  we've  been  sitting,  like  so  many 
cabbage  heads  on  a  bench,  waiting  for  someone 
to  come  and  tell  us  about  it!"  snorts  Old  Hick- 
ory. * '  Excellent !  Killam,  do  you  think  you  can 
pilot  us  back  without  trying  to  cut  new  chan- 
nels through  the  State  of  Florida?" 

Rupert  don't  make  any  promises,  but  he  gets 
busy;  and  pretty  soon  we're  under  way, 


248  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

It's  about  them  that  I  springs  this  hunch  of 
mine. 

"Say,  Mr.  Ellins,"  says  I,  "was  this  island 
you  were  lookin'  for  a  little  one  with  a  hump 
in  the  middle?" 

"That  tallies  with  Captain  Killam's  descrip- 
tion," says  he.  "Why?" 

"Well,"  I  goes  on,  "a  little  while  before  we 
located  you  we  passed  one  like  that.  Don't  you 
remember,  Vee!" 

"That's  so,"  says  Vee;  "we  did.  I  know 
right  where  it  is,  too." 

"We  might  take  a  glance  at  it,"  says  Old 
Hickory.  "Killam,  give  Miss  Verona  the 
wheel." 

I  couldn't  have  said  exactly  which  way  to  go, 
but  Vee  never  hesitates  a  second.  She  steers 
straight  back  on  the  course  we'd  come,  and  in- 
side of  fifteen  minutes  we  shoots  past  a  point 
and  opens  up  a  whole  clump  of  islands,  with 
one  tiny  one  tucked  away  in  the  middle. 

* '  That 's  it ! "  shouts  Rupert,  jumpin '  up  and 
down.  "That's  Nunca  Secos  Key!" 

"Maybe,"  says  Old  Hickory.  "There  does 
seem  to  be  something  of  an  elevation  in  the 
center.  Let's  run  in  as  close  as  we  can,  Ve- 
rona." 

By  this  time  we  were  all  grouped  in  the  bow, 
stretchin'  our  necks  and  gazin'  interested. 


AUNTIE  TAKES  A  NIGHT  OFF     249 

"The  mound!"  suddenly  sings  out  Rupert, 
pointin'  excited.  ''The  treasure  mound!  I  told 
you  I'd  find  it." 

"Huh!"  says  Old  Hickory.  "You  forgot  to 
mention,  however,  that  you  would  need  Miss 
Verona  and  Torchy  to  do  the  finding  for  you." 

Well,  no  need  goin'  into  details,  but  that's 
how  Vee  and  me  happened  to  get  counted  in  as 
reg'lar  treasure  hunters,  to  share  and  share 
alike.  We  was  elected  right  on  the  spot." 

"And  now,"  says  Old  Hickory,  grabbin'  up  a 
spade  from  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  "now  we — " 

"Now  we  will  go  back  to  the  yacht  and  get 
some  sleep,"  announces  Auntie.  "I've  had 
treasure  hunting  enough  for  one  night.  So 
have  you,  Matthew  Ellins,  if  you  only  knew  it." 

Old  Hickory  shrugs  his  shoulders.  He  drops 
the  spade.  Then  he  lets  go  of  a  yawn. 

' '  Oh,  well ! ' '  says  he.  * '  If  that 's  the  way  you 
feel  about  it." 

"What!"  says  Vee.  "Go  another  whole  day 
without  knowing  whether — " 

"Certainly,"  cuts  in  Auntie.    "I'm  so  sleepy 
I  couldn't   tell  a  doubloon   from  a  doughnut. 
Ho-ho-hum!    Let's  be  getting  back." 

It  wasn't  much  after  six  when  we  made  the 
yacht,  but  the  whole  crew  seems  to  be  up  and 
stirrin'  around.  As  we  comes  alongside  they 
sort  of  groups  themselves  into  a  gawp  com- 


250  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

mittee  forward,  and  I  caught  them  passin'  tho 
smile  and  nudge  to  each  other.  The  two  sailors 
that  mans  the  landin'  stairs  are  on  the  broad 
grin.  It's  well  for  them  that  neither  Auntie 
nor  Old  Hickory  seems  to  notice.  I  did,  though, 
and  trails  behind  the  others  gettin'  out. 

"What's  all  the  comedy  for?"  I  demands. 

"Nothing  at  all,  sir,"  says  one. 

Then  the  other  breaks  in  with,  "Any  luck, 
sir?" 

"Sure!"  says  I.    "We  saw  a  swell  sunrise." 

I'm  wonderin',  though,  why  all  them  hired 
hands  should  be  givin'  us  the  merry  face. 


CHAPTER  XV 

PASSING   THE   JOKE   BUCK 

mind  admittin'  that  this  treasure- 
huntin'  stuff  does  get  you.  Course,  while  I  was 
only  an  outsider,  with  no  ticket  even  for  a 
brokerage  bite  at  the  gate  receipts,  I  wasn't 
runnin'  any  temperature  over  the  prospects. 

But  now  it  was  different.  Vee  and  I  had  gone 
out  and  shown  this  poor  prune  of  a  Captain 
Killam  where  his  bloomin'  island  was,  we'd 
rescued  Auntie  and  Old  Hickory  from  bein* 
stuck  in  the  mud,  and  we'd  been  officially 
counted  in  as  possible  prize  winners.  More'n 
that,  we'd  seen  the  treasure  mound. 

"Torchy,"  says  Vee,  the  first  chance  we  has 
for  a  few  side  remarks  after  lunch  that  day, 
' 'what  do  you  think?  Is  it  full  of  gold  and 
jewels?" 

"Well,"  says  I,  tryin'  to  look  wise,  "it  might 
be,  mightn't  it?  And  then  again  you  can't 
always  tell." 

"But  suppose  it  is?"  insists  Vee,  her  gray 
eyes  bigger  than  ever. 

"I  can't,"  says  I.     "It's    too   much    of   a 

251 


252  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

strain.  Honest,  from  what  I've  seen  of  the 
country  down  here,  it  would  be  a  miracle  to  run 
across  a  single  loose  dollar,  while  as  for  uncov- 
erin'  it  in  bunches—  Say,  Vee,  how  much  of 
this  pirate  guff  do  you  stand  for,  anyway?" 

"Why,  you  silly,"  says  she.  "Of  course 
there  were  pirates — Lafitte  and  Jose  Gaspar 
and — and  a  lot  of  others.  They  robbed  ships 
right  off  here  and  naturally  they  buried  their 
treasure  when  they  came  ashore." 

"What  simps!"  says  I.  "Then  they  went 
off  and  forgot,  eh?" 

"Some  were  caught  and  hanged,"  says  she, 
"and  I  suppose  some  were  killed  fighting.  No 
one  can  tell.  It  was  all  so  long  ago,  you  see. 
They're  all  gone.  But  the  islands  are  still  here, 
aren't  they?" 

"I  don't  miss  any,"  says  I.  "There's  the 
mound,  too.  It's  big  enough  to  hold  forty 
trucldoads." 

"Oh,  there  won't  be  that  much,"  says  she. 
"A  few  chests,  perhaps.  But  think,  Torchy,  of 
digging  up  gold  that  has  been  lying  there  for  a 
hundred  years  or  more!" 

"I  don't  care  how  old  it  is,"  says  I,  "if  it's 
the  kind  you  can  shove  in  at  the  receivin'  teller 
and  get  credit  for.  What  you  plannin'  to  blow 
your  share  against?" 

"I  hadn't  thought  much  about  that,"  says 


v     PASSING  THE  JOKE  BUCK       253 

Vee.  ' l  Only  that  I  once  saw  the  loveliest  girdle 
made  of  old  coins." 

Isn't  that  the  girl  of  it! 

"You're  a  wonder,  Vee,"  says  I.  "Here  you 
stand  to  have  a  bundle  of  easy  money  wished 
on  you,  and  all  you  can  think  of  is  winnin'  a 
fancy  belt." 

Vee  giggles  good-natured. 

"Well,  Mister  Solomon,  what  would  you  do 
with  yours  ? ' ' 

"Swap  it  for  as  many  blocks  of  Corrugated 
preferred  as  my  broker  could  collect,"  says  I. 
"Then  when  we  declared  an  extra  dividend — " 

"Pooh!"  says  Vee.  "You  and  Auntie  are 
just  alike." 

"Wouldn't  it  cheer  Auntie  up  a  lot  to  hear 
that?"  says  I.  "I  expect  she's  busy  spendin' 
her  share,  too." 

"I  should  say,"  announces  Vee,  "that  we  had 
all  better  be  planning  how  to  get  that  treasure 
on  board  the  yacht.  Captain  Killam  says  we 
mustn't  go  there  by  day,  you  know,  because 
someone  might  follow  us.  Then  there's  the 
crew.  I  wonder  if  they  suspect  anything?" 

Come  to  find  out,  that  was  what  we  was  all 
wonderin'.  Course,  Rupert  would  be  the  first 
to  develop  a  case  of  nerves.  He  reports  that 
he's  come  across  groups  of  'em  whisperin'  mys- 
terious. Which  reminds  Auntie  that  she'd 


254  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

noticed  something  of  the  kind,  too.  Even  Mr. 
Ellins  admits  that  some  of  the  men  had  acted 
sort  of  queer.  And  right  while  we're  holdin' 
our  confab  someone  looks  around  and  discov- 
ers that  a  sailor  has  drifted  up  sleuthy  almost 
within  earshot. 

'  «  Hey,  you ! "  calls  out  Old  Hickory.  ' '  What 
are  you  doing  there?" 

"Just  touching  up  the  brasswork,  sir," 
says  he. 

"Do  your  touching  up  some  other  time," 
orders  Old  Hickory.  * '  Forward  with  you ! ' ' 

"Yes,  sir,"  says  the  party  in  the  white 
jumper,  and  sneaks  off. 

"Listening!"  says  Rupert.  "That's  what 
he  was  doing." 

"Who  knows  what  they  may  be  plotting," 
says  Auntie,  "or  what  sort  of  men  they  are? 
Sailors  are  apt  to  be  such  desperate  characters. 
Why,  we  might  all  be  murdered  in  our  beds!" 

"As  likely  as  not,"  says  Rupert  gloomy. 

And  you  know  how  catchin'  an  idea  like  that 
is.  Up  to  then  we  hadn't  taken  much  notice  of 
the  crew,  no  more'n  you  do  of  the  help  any- 
where. Oh,  we'd  got  so  we  could  tell  the  deck 
stewards  apart.  One  was  a  squint-eyed  little 
Cockney  that  misplaced  his  aitches,  but  was 
always  on  hand  when  you  wanted  anything. 
Another  was  a  tall,  lanky  Swede  who  was 


PASSING  THE  JOKE  BUCK       255 

always  "Yust  coomin',  sir."  Then  there  was 
the  bristly-haired  Hungarian  we  called  Gou- 
lash. They'd  all  seemed  harmless  enough  be- 
fore; but  now  we  took  to  sizin'  'em  up  close. 
At  dinner,  when  they  was  servin'  things,  I 
glanced  around  and  found  all  four  of  our  treas- 
ure-huntin'  bunch  followin'  every  move  made. 
The  usual  table  chatter  had  stopped,  too. 

"Why!"  says  Mrs.  Mumford,  springin'  that 
silly  laugh  of  hers,  "it  must  be  twenty  min- 
utes of." 

Nobody  says  a  word,  for  Ole  and  Goulash 
was  servin'  the  fish  course.  You  could  see  they 
was  fussed,  too.  It  was  a  queer  sort  of  dinner- 
party. I  could  tell  by  the  look  of  Old  Hickory's 
eyes  that  something  was  coming  from  him.  And 
sure  enough,  after  coffee  had  been  passed,  he 
proceeds  to  tackle  the  situation  square  and  solid, 
like  he  always  does.  He  waves  off  the  stewards 
and  sends  for  Lennon,  the  yacht  captain. 

One  of  these  chunky,  square-jawed  gents, 
Captain  Lennon  is,  and  about  as  sociable  as  a 
traffic  cop  on  duty.  His  job  is  runnin'  the 
yacht,  and  he  sticks  to  it. 

"Captain,"  says  Mr.  Ellins,  "I  want  to  know 
something  about  your  crew.  What  are  they 
like,  now?" 

The  Cap  looks  sort  of  puzzled. 

"Why,  they're  all  right,  I  guess,"  says  he. 


256  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

"Please  don't  guess,"  cuts  in  Auntie.  "Are 
they  all  good,  responsible,  steady-going  trust- 
worthy men,  on  whose  character  you  can  abso- 
lutely depend?" 

"I  couldn't  say,  madam,"  says  he.  "We 
don't  get  'em  from  divinity  schools." 

"Of  course  not,"  chimes  in  Old  Hickory. 
"What  we  really  want  to  know  is  this :  Do  your 
men  suspect  what  we  are  here  for?" 

The  Captain  nods. 

"How  much  do  they  know — er — about  the 
buried  treasure,  for  instance?"  demands  Old 
Hickory. 

Captain  Lennon  shrugs  his  shoulders. 

"About  twice  as  much  as  is  so,  I  suppose," 
says  he.  "They're  great  gossips,  sailors — 
worse  than  so  many  old  women." 

* '  Huh ! ' '  grunts  Mr.  Ellins.  '  *  And  about  how 
long  have  they  known  all  this?" 

"I  overheard  some  of  them  talking  about  it 
before  we  sailed,"  says  the  Captain.  "There 
were  those  new  shovels  and  picks,  you  know; 
perhaps  those  set  them  guessing.  Anyway, 
they  were  passing  the  word  from  the  first." 

Mr.  Ellins  shakes  his  head  and  glances  at 
Killam.  Auntie  presses  her  lips  tight  and 
stares  from  one  to  the  other. 

"This  is  serious,"  says  Old  Hickory.  "Why 
didn't  you  tell  us  of  this  before?" 


PASSING  THE  JOKE  BUCK       257 

"Why,"  says  Captain  Lennon,  "I  didn't 
think  you'd  like  it,  sir.  And  I've  warned  the 
men. ' ' 

"Warned  them  against  what?"  asks  Old 
Hickory. 

"Against  showing  their  grins  above  decks," 
says  the  Captain.  "Of  course,  I  can't  stop  their 
having  their  jokes  in  their  own  quarters." 

"Jokes?"  echoes  Mr.  Ellins. 

"Jokes!"  gasps  Auntie. 

Captain  Lennon  hunches  his  shoulders  again. 

"I  thought  you  wouldn't  like  it,  sir,"  says 
he;  "but  that's  the  way  they  look  at  it.  I've 
told  them  it  was  none  of  their  business  what 
you  folks  did ;  that  you  could  afford  to  hunt  for 
buried  treasure,  or  buried  beans,  or  buried  any- 
thing else,  if  you  wanted  to.  And  if  you'll 
report  one  of  them  even  winking  disrespectful, 
or  showing  the  trace  of  a  grin,  I'll  set  him  and 
his  ditty  bag  ashore  so  quick — " 

"Thank  you,  Captain,"  breaks  in  Mr.  Ellins, 
kind  of  choky;  "that — that  will  be  all." 

You  should  have  seen  the  different  expres- 
sions around  that  table  after  the  Captain  has 
gone.  I  don't  know  that  I  ever  saw  Old  Hick- 
ory actually  look  sheepish  before.  As  for 
Auntie,  she's  almost  ready  to  blow  a  fuse. 

"Well,"  says  she  explosive.  "I  like  that! 
Jokes,  are  we?" 


258  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

"So  it  appears,"  says  Mr.  Ellins.  "At  any 
rate,  we  seem  to  be  in  no  danger  from  a  mutin- 
ous crew.  Our  little  enterprise  merely  amuses 
them." 

"Pooh!"  says  Auntie.  "Ignorant  sailors! 
What  do  they  know  about — ' 

But  just  then  there  booms  in  through  the 
portholes  this  hearty  hail  from  outside : 

"Ahoy  the  Agnes!  Who's  aboard  there! 
Wha-a-a-at !  Mr.  Ellins,  of  New  York.  Well, 
well!  Hey,  you!  Fend  off  there.  I'm  com- 
ing in." 

"Megrue!"  says  Old  Hickory.  "If  it  isn't 
I'll—" 

It  was,  all  right :  Bernard  J.  Megrue,  one  of 
our  biggest  Western  customers,  president  of  a 
couple  of  railroads,  and  director  in  a  lot  of  com- 
panies that's  more  or  less  close  to  the  Corru- 
gated Trust.  He's  a  husk,  Barney  Megrue  is 
— big  and  breezy,  with  crisp  iron-gray  hair, 
lively  black  eyes,  and  all  the  gentle  ways  of  a 
section  boss. 

He's  got  up  in  a  complete  khaki  rig,  in- 
cludin'  shirt  and  hat  to  match,  and  below  the 
eyebrows  he  has  a  complexion  like  a  mahogany 
sideboard.  It  don't  take  him  long  to  make  him- 
self right  to  home  among  us. 

"Well,  well!"  says  he,  workin'  a  forced 
draught  on  one  of  Old  Hickory's  choice  cassa- 


PASSING  THE  JOKE  BUCK       259 

doras.  "Who'd  ever  think  of  running  across 
you  down  here?  After  tarpon,  eh  ?  That's  me, 
too.  Hung  up  my  third  fish  for  the  season  only 
yesterday;  a  beauty,  too — hundred  and  sixty- 
three  pounds — and  it  took  me  just  two  hours 
and  forty-five  minutes  to  make  the  kill.  But 
say,  Ellins,  this  is  no  stand  for  real  strikes. 
Now,  you  move  up  to  Boca  Grande  to-morrow 
and  I'll  show  you  fishing  that's  something 
like." 

"Thanks,  Barney,"  says  Old  Hickory,  "but 
I'm  no  whaler.  In  fact,  I'm  no  fisherman, 
at  all." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  says  Megrue.  "Just  cruising, 
eh !  Well,  that 's  all  right  if  you  like  it.  People 
come  to  Florida  for  all  sorts  of  things.  Which 
reminds  me  of  something  rich.  Heard  it  from 
my  boatman.  He  tells  me  there's  a  party  of 
New  York  folks  down  here  hunting  for  pirate 
gold.  Haw,  haw!  How  about  that,  eh?" 

Embarrassin'  pause.  Very.  Nobody  dared 
look  at  anybody  else.  At  least,  I  didn't.  I  was 
waverin'  between  a  gasp  and  a  snicker,  and  was 
nearly  chokin'  over  it,  when  Old  Hickory  clears 
his  throat  raspy  and  menacin'. 

"Well,  what  about  it?"  he  asks  snappy. 

"Why,"  says  Megrue,  "it  seems  too  good 
to  be  true,  that's  all.  As  I  told  the  boys  up  at 
the  hotel,  if  there  are  any  real  treasure-hunting 


260  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

bugs  around,  I  want  to  get  a  good  look  at  'em — 
especially  if  they're  from  New  York.  That's 
one  on  you,  eh,  Ellins  ?  Proves  you  have  a  few 
folks  in  the  big  town  who  have  bats  in  their 
belfries,  don't  it?" 

That  gets  an  uneasy  squirm  out  of  Old  Hick- 
ory, but  he  comes  right  back  at  him. 

"Just  why?"  he  demands. 

"Why,  great  Scott,  Ellins,"  goes  on  Megrue 
enthusiastic,  "don't  you  know  that  buried 
treasure  stuff  is  the  stalest  kind  of  tourist  bait 
in  use  on  the  whole  Florida  coast?  The  hotel 
people  have  been  handing  that  out  for  the  past 
fifty  years.  Wouldn't  think  anyone  could  be 
still  found  who'd  bite  at  it,  would  you?  But 
it  seems  they  exist.  Every  once  in  a  while  a 
new  lot  of  come-ons  show  up,  with  their  old 
charts  and  their  nice  new  shovels,  and  go  to 
digging.  Why,  I  was  shown  a  place  just  north 
of  Little  Gasparilla — Cotton  River,  they  call  it 
— where  the  banks  have  been  dug  up  for  miles 
by  these  simple-minded  nuts. 

"Every  now  and  then,  too,  they  circulate 
that  musty  tale  about  an  old  Spaniard,  in 
Tampa  or  Fort  Myers  or  somewhere,  who 
whispers  deathbed  directions  about  finding  a 
chest  of  gold  buried  at  the  foot  of  a  lone  pal- 
metto on  some  key  or  other.  And  say,  they 
tell  me  there  isn't  a  lone  tree  on  this  section 


PASSING  THE  JOKE  BUCK       261 

of  the  coast  that  hasn't  been  dug  up  by  the 
roots.  Good  old  human  nature  can't  be  downed, 
can  it?  You  can  suppress  the  green-goods  and 
gold-brick  games,  but  folks  will  still  go  to 
shoveling  sand  if  you  mention  pirates  to  'em. 
"What  I  want  is  to  see  'em  at  it  once." 

The  harder  you  jolt  Old  Hickory,  though,  the 
steadier  he  gets. 

"Huh!"  says  he,  smilin'  sarcastic.  "An 
ambition  such  as  yours  ought  to  be  gratified. 
Take  a  good  look  at  us,  Megrue." 

' *  Wha-a-a-at ! "  gasps  Barney,  starin'  at  him. 
"You — you  don't  mean  that — that — " 

"Precisely,"  says  Old  Hickory.  "We  are 
the  crack-brained  New  Yorkers  you  are  so 
anxious  to  see." 

Well,  when  he  recovers  his  breath  he  does  his 
best  to  square  himself.  He  apologizes  four  dif- 
ferent ways,  gettin'  in  deeper  with  every  turn, 
until  finally  he  edges  towards  the  stairs  and 
makes  his  escape. 

"At  least,"  remarks  Old  Hickory,  "I  sup- 
pose it  is  something  to  provide  a  source  of 
innocent  merriment.  I  trust  we  are  not  over- 
looking anyone  who  might  wish  to  be  amused." 

Before  the  evenin'  was  over  he  had  his 
answer.  About  eight-thirty  out  comes  a  fast 
motor-boat  and  ties  up  alongside  without  askin' 
leave.  Reporters,  two  of  'em.  They  climbs  up, 


262  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

grinnin'  and  amiable,  specially  the  fat  one  in 
the  tight-fittin'  Palm  Beach  suit.  They  wanted 
to  know  when  we  was  goin'  to  start  diggin',  and 
if  we'd  mind  their  bringin'  out  a  movie  ma- 
chine, so  one  of  'em  could  get  a  few  hundred 
feet  of  film  for  a  picture  news  service  that  he 
represented. 

"It  ought  to  be  great  stuff,"  says  Fatty. 

" Young  man,"  says  Old  Hickory,  breathin' 
hard  and  talkin'  through  his  teeth,  "have  you 
any  idea  what  a  splash  you'd  make  if  you  were 
dropped  overboard?" 

"Oh,  come,  guv 'nor,"  protests  Fatty;  "we 
only  want  to — " 

About  then,  though,  he  decides  to  make  a 
scramble  for  his  boat  and  the  interview  was  off. 
Old  Hickory  stands  glarin'  after  the  pair  until 
they're  out  of  sight.  Then  he  chuckles  un- 
pleasant. 

"For  a  private,  not  to  say  secret,  enterprise," 
says  he,  "it  occurs  to  me  that  ours  is  rather 
well  advertised.  What  next,  I  wonder?" 

"There's  a  big  boat  headed  this  way  on  the 
other  side,"  says  I.  "Seems  to  me  I  hear  a 
band,  too." 

"Excursionists!"  says  Auntie.  "Do  you 
suppose  they  would  have  the  impudence?" 

"Looks  like  a  moonlight  round  trip,  with  the 


PASSING  THE  JOKE  BUCK       263 

Agnes  as  the  object  of  interest,"  says  I.  " Yep ! 
They've  got  the  searchlight  on  us." 

"This  is  insufferable!"  says  Auntie,  and 
beats  it  below,  to  lock  herself  in  her  stateroom. 

"Gr-r-r-r!"  remarks  Old  Hickory,  and  fol- 
lows suit. 

We  never  did  trace  out  who  had  done  such 
thorough  press  work  for  us ;  but  I  have  my  sus- 
picions it  was  the  chief  steward,  who  went 
ashore  reg'lar  every  morning  after  milk  and 
cream.  But  the  round-trippers  surely  was  well 
posted.  We  could  hear  'em  talkin'  us  over, 
shoutin'  their  comments  above  the  rumble  of 
the  engine. 

Vee  and  I  didn't  want  to  miss  any  of  it,  so 
we  hikes  up  on  the  bridge  and  camps  behind  the 
canvas  spray  shield.  Captain  Lennon  come  up, 
too,  sort  of  standin'  guard.  It  was  'most  like 
bein'  under  fire  in  the  trenches. 

"That's  her — the  Agnes  of  New  York!"  we 
heard  'em  sing  out.  "My,  what  a  perfectly 
swell  yacht,  Minnie!  Ain't  they  the  boobs, 
though?  Hey,  Sam,  why  dontcher  ask  them 
squirrels  can  they  make  a  noise  like  a  nut? 
Huntin'  pirate  gold,  are  they?  Who's  been 
kiddin'  'em  that  way?" 

"Little  sample  of  Southern  hospitality,  I 
expect,"  says  I.  "All  they  lack  is  a  few  ripe 
eggs  and  some  garden  confetti." 


264  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

"I  wonder  if  Auntie  can  hear?"  giggles  Vee. 
"Do  you  know  what  this  makes  me  feel  like? 
As  if  I  were  a  person  in  a  cartoon." 

"You've  said  it,"  says  I.  "What  I  mind 
most,  though,  is  that  fresh  gink  with  the  search- 
light. Say,  Cap'n,  why  couldn't  we  turn  ours 
loose  at  him  as  a  come-back?" 

"Go  ahead,"  says  Captain  Lennon,  throwing 
a  switch. 

Say,  that  was  a  great  little  thought,  for  the 
Agnes  has  a  high-powered  glim,  and  when  I 
swung  it  onto  that  excursion  boat  it  made 
theirs  look  like  a  boardin '-house  gas  jet  with 
the  pressure  low.  You  could  see  the  folks 
blinkin'  and  battin'  their  eyes  as  if  they  was 
half  blinded.  Next  I  picks  up  the  pilot  house 
and  gives  the  man  at  the  wheel  the  full  benefit. 

"Hey!  Take  off  that  light,"  he  sings  out. 
"I  can't  see  where  I'm  runnin'.  Take  it  off!" 

"Switch  off  yours,  then,  you  mutt,"  says  I, 
"and  run  your  cheap  sandwich  gang  back 
where  they  belong  under  the  hominy  vines." 

My,  don't  that  raise  a  howl,  though!  They 
wanted  to  mob  us  for  keeps  then,  and  all  sorts 
of  junk  begun  to  fly  through  the  air.  Then 
Cap'n  Lennon  took  a  hand. 

"Sheer  off  there!"  he  orders,  "or  I'll  turn 
the  fire  hose  on  you." 

Well,    the    excursion    captain    stayed    long 


PASSING  THE  JOKE  BUCK       265 

enough  to  pass  the  time  of  day,  but  when  he 
saw  the  sailors  unreelin'  the  hose  he  got  a  move 
on ;  and  in  half  an  hour  we  was  lyin'  quiet  again 
in  the  moonlight. 

Must  have  been  well  on  towards  midnight, 
and  I  was  just  ready  to  turn  in  when  Mr.  Ellins 
comes  paddin'  out  of  his  stateroom,  luggin' 
two  pairs  of  hip  rubber  boots. 

"Torchy,"  says  he,  "call  Killam,  will  you?" 

By  the  time  I'd  routed  out  Rupert,  I  finds 
Auntie  and  Vee  waitin'  in  the  main  cabin,  all 
dressed  for  travel. 

"I  may  be  the  oldest  joke  on  record,"  says 
Old  Hickory,  "but  I  propose  to  know  before 
morning  what  is  in  that  mound.  Of  course,  if 
anyone  feels  foolish  about  going — " 

"I  do,  for  one,"  speaks  up  Auntie,  "and  I 
should  think  you  would,  too,  Matthew  Ellins. 
We've  been  told  how  silly  we  are  enough  times 
to-night,  haven't  we!" 

"We  have,"  says  Old  Hickory.  "Which  is 
just  why  I  propose  to  see  this  thing  through." 

"And  I  am  quite  as  stubborn  as  you  are," 
says  Auntie.  "That  is  why  I  am  going,  too." 

Vee  and  I  didn't  put  up  any  apologies.  We 
just  trailed  along  silent.  As  for  Rupert,  he'd 
been  kicked  around  so  much  the  last  few  days 
that  he  hadn't  a  word  to  say.  Here  he  was,  too, 
right  on  the  verge  of  the  big  test  that  he'd  been 


266  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

workin'  up  to  so  long,  and  he's  so  meek  he 
hardly  dares  open  his  head.  When  we  starts 
pilin'  into  the  launch  he  shows  up  with  a  couple 
of  bundles. 

"What  the  syncopated  seraphims  have  you 
there?"  demands  Old  Hickory. 

"Gas  bombs,"  says  Rupert.  "To  clear  out 
the  snakes." 

"Careful  with  'em,"  growls  Old  Hickory. 
"What  else?" 

"A  few  canvas  bags  for — for  the  treasure, 
sir,"  says  Rupert,  duckin'  his  head  sheepish. 
"Shall— shall  I  put  them  in?" 

"Oh,  you  might  as  well,"  says  Old  Hickory. 

And  once  more,  with  Vee  at  the  wheel,  we 
sneaks  off  in  the  moonlight  for  Nunca  Secos 
Key.  We  wasn't  a  chatty  lot  of  adventurers.  I 
expect  we  all  felt  like  we  was  about  to  open  an 
April  fool  package,  and  wished  the  others 
hadn't  been  there  to  watch.  None  of  us  could 
pass  anyone  else  the  laugh ;  that  was  some  sat- 
isfaction. 

There  was  enough  outsiders,  though,  to  give 
us  the  titter.  Megrue  was  sure  to  spread  the 
tale  among  Old  Hickory's  business  friends. 
And  who  knew  what  that  pair  of  foiled  inter- 
viewers would  do  to  us?  Some  of  their  stuff 
might  get  into  the  New  York  papers.  Then 
wouldn't  Mr.  Ellins  be  let  in  for  a  choice  lot  of 


PASSING  THE  JOKE  BUCK       267 

joshin'!  No  wonder  he  sits  chewin'  savage  at 
a  cold  cigar. 

When  we  gets  near  the  little  island,  though, 
he  rouses  up.  He  pulls  on  a  pair  of  wadin' 
boots  and  tosses  another  pair  to  me.  Eupert, 
he 's  all  fixed  up  for  rough  work,  and  even  Vee 
has  brought  some  high  huntin'  shoes. 

So,  when  we  lands,  each  takes  a  shiny  new 
spade  or  a  pick  and  makes  ready  to  explore  the 
mound  that  looms  mysterious  through  the 
mangrove  bushes.  First  off,  Eupert  has  to  toss 
out  a  couple  of  gas  bombs,  in  case  there  might 
be  rattlers  roamin'  around.  And,  believe  me, 
any  snake  that  could  stand  that  smell  was  en- 
titled to  stay  on  the  ground.  It's  ten  or  fifteen 
minutes  before  we  dared  go  near  ourselves. 
Eupert  suggests  that  we  start  a  tunnel  in  from 
the  bottom,  and  sort  of  relay  each  other  as  our 
wind  gives  out. 

''Very  well,"  says  Old!  Hickory.  "It's  a 
good  many  years  since  I  did  any  excavating, 
but  I  think  I  can  still  swing  a  pick. ' ' 

Say,  he  could;  that  is,  for  a  five-minute 
stretch.  And  while  he's  restin'  up  I  tackles  it. 
I  didn't  last  so  long,  either.  Eupert,  though, 
comes  out  strong.  He  makes  the  sand  fly  at  a 
great  rate.  Vee  stands  by,  holdin'  an  elec- 
tric torch,  while  Auntie  watches  from  the 
boat. 


268  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

"We're  makin'  quite  a  hole  in  it,  Mr.  Ell- 
ins,"  says  I,  sort  of  encouragin'. 

"It  is  the  usual  thing  to  do,  I  believe,"  says 
he,  "before  owning  up  that  you've  been  fooled. 
Here,  Killam,  let  me  have  another  go  at  that." 

He  don't  do  it  because  he's  excited  about  it, 
but  just  because  it's  his  turn.  In  fact,  we'd  all 
got  to  about  that  stage.  We'd  shoveled  out  a 
wagon  load  or  two  of  old  roots  and  sand  and 
rotten  shells  without  uncoverin'  so  much  as  a 
rusty  nail,  and  it  looked  like  we  might  keep  on 
until  mornin'  with  the  same  amazin'  success. 
Considerin'  that  we  was  half  beaten  before  we 
started,  we'd  done  a  pretty  fair  job.  It  was 
just  a  question  now  of  how  soon  somebody 'd 
have  nerve  enough  to  make  a  motion  that 
we  quit.  That's  when  we  had  our  first  little 
flutter. 

"Huh!"  says  Old  Hickory,  jabbin'  in  with 
his  spade.  ' '  Must  have  struck  a  log.  Hand  me 
a  pick,  someone." 

When  he  makes  a  swing  with  that,  the  point 
goes  in  solid  and  sticks. 

"Eight!    It  is  a  log,"  he  announces. 

Killam  tests  it,  and  he  says  it's  a  log,  too. 

"An  old  palmetto  trunk,"  says  he,  proddin' 
at  it.  ' '  Two  of  them,  one  laid  on  the  other.  No, 
three.  I  say,  that's  funny.  Let's  clear  away 
all  of  this  stuff." 


PASSING  THE  JOKE  BUCK       269 

So  we  goes  at  it,  all  three  at  once,  and  inside 
of  fifteen  minutes  we  can  see  what  looks  like  the 
side  of  a  little  log  cabin. 

"If  this  was  out  in  Wisconsin,"  says  Old 
Hickory,  "I  should  say  we'd  found  somebody's 
root  cellar.  But  who  would  build  such  a  thing 
in  Florida?" 

"Come  on,"  says  Killam,  his  voice  sort  of 
shrill  and  quivery.  "I  have  one  of  the  logs 
loose.  Now  pry  here  with  your  picks,  every- 
body. Together,  now!  It's  coming!  Once 
more!  There!  Now  the  next  one  above.  Oh, 
put  your  weight  on  it,  Mr.  Ellins.  Get  a  fresh 
hold.  Try  her  now.  It's  giving!  Again. 
Harder.  Look  out  for  your  toes!  And  let's 
have  that  light  here,  Miss  Verona.  Flash  it 
into  this  hole.  Isn't  that  a — a — " 

"It's  a  barrel,"  says  Vee. 

"Water  butt,"  says  Killam.  "An  old  ship's 
water  butt.  There  are  the  staves  of  another, 
fallen  apart.  And  look!  Will — you — look,  all 
of  you ! ' ' 

Would  we!  Say,  we  was  crowded  around 
that  black  hole  in  the  mound  as  thick  as  noon 
lunchers  at  a  pie  counter.  And  we  was  strainin' 
our  eyes  to  see  what  the  faint  light  of  the  torch 
was  tryin'  to  show  up.  All  of  a  sudden  I 
reaches  in  and  makes  a  grab  at  something, 
bringin'  out  a  fistful. 


270  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

"Hard  money,"  says  I,  "or  I  don't  know  the 
feel!" 

"Why,  it — it's  gold!"  says  Vee,  bringin'  her 
flashlight  close. 

"There's  more  of  it,  a  lot  more!"  shouts 
Killam,  who  has  his  head  and  shoulders  inside 
and  is  pawin'  around  excited.  "Quarts  and 
quarts  of  it !  And  jewels,  too !  I  say,  Mr.  Ell- 
ins!  Jewels!  Didn't  I  tell  you  we'd  find  'em? 
See,  here  they  are.  See  those!  And  those! 
Didn't  I  say  so?" 

"You  did,  Captain,"  admits  Old  Hickory. 
"You  certainly  did.  And  for  a  time  I  was  just 
ass  enough  to  believe  you,  wasn't  I?" 

' '  Oh,  Auntie ! ' '  calls  Vee.  "  We  've  found  it ! 
Honest  to  goodness  we  have.  Come  and  see." 

"As  though  I  wasn't  coming  as  fast  as  I 
could,  child!"  says  Auntie,  who  has  scrambled 
over  the  bow  somehow  and  is  plowin'  towards 
us  with  her  skirts  gripped  high  on  either  side. 

Thrillin'!  Say,  I  don't  believe  any  of  us 
could  tell  just  what  we  did  do  for  the  next  half 
hour  or  so.  I  remember  once  Old  Hickory  got 
jammed  into  the  hole  and  we  had  to  pry  him 
out.  And  another  time,  when  we  was  rollin' 
out  the  cask,  it  was  Auntie  who  helped  me  pull 
it  through  and  ease  it  down  the  slope.  She'd 
lost  most  of  her  hairpins  and  her  gray  hair  was 
hangin'  down  her  back.  Also,  she'd  stepped 


PASSING  THE  JOKE  BUCK       271 

on  the  front  of  her  skirt  and  ripped  off  a 
breadth.  But  them  trifles  didn't  seem  to  bother 
her  a  bit. 

"Ho,  ho!"  she  warbles  merry.  "Gold  and 
jewels!  The  jewels  of  old  Spain  and  of  the 
days  of  Louis  Fourteenth.  Pirate  gold!  We've 
dug  it!  The  very  thing  I've  always  wanted  to 
do  ever  since  I  was  a  little  girl.  Ho,  ho !" 

"And  I  rather  guess,"  adds  Old  Hickory, 
fishin'  a  broken  cigar  out  of  his  vest  pocket, 
"that  as  treasure  hunters  we're  not  such  thun- 
dering jokes,  after  all.  Eh?" 

And  say,  when  Old  Hickory  starts  crowin' 
you  can  know  he  sees  clear  through  to  daylight. 
I  looks  over  my  shoulder  just  then,  and,  sure 
enough,  it's  beginnin'  to  pink  up  in  the  east. 

"My  dope  is,"  says  I,  "that  it's  goin'  to  be 
a  large,  wide  day.  Anyhow,  it  opens  well." 


CHAPTER    XVI 

TOECHY    TAKES    A    RUNNING    JUMP 

COUBSE,  it  don't  sound  natural.  A  merry  sun- 
rise party  is  an  event  that  ain't  often  listed  on 
the  cards,  unless  it's  a  continuous  session  from 
the  evenin'  before.  But  this  wasn't  a  case  of  a 
bunch  of  night-bloomin'  gladiolas  who'd  lasted 
through.  Hardly.  Although  Auntie  does  have 
something  of  a  look  like  the  parties  you  see 
lined  up  at  Yorkville  Court,  charged  with  havin' 
been  rude  to  taxi  drivers ;  and  Mr.  Ellins  might 
have  been  passin'  the  night  on  a  bakery  gratin' 
with  a  sportin'  extra  for  a  blanket. 

We  was  a  long,  long  ways  from  either  taxis 
or  traffic  cops,  though.  We  was  on  Nunca  Secos 
Key,  with  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  murmurin'  gentle 
behind  us,  and  out  in  front  a  big  red  sun  was 
blazin'  through  the  black  pines  that  edge  the 
west  coast  of  Florida.  Fiye  of  us,  includin'  Vee 
and  Captain  Rupert  Killam  and  me;  and  each 
in  our  own  peculiar  way  was  registerin'  the 
Pollyanna-Mrs.  Wiggs  stuff. 

Why  not?  For  one  thing,  it's  about  as  hand- 
some a  December  mornin'  as  you  could  dream 

272 


of — the  air  soft  and  mild,  with  a  clean,  salty 
smell  to  it  that  sort  of  gives  you  a  romantic 
hunch  every  sniff  you  pump  in. 

But  the  big  reason  for  this  early-mornin' 
joyfest  of  ours —  Well,  there's  the  pirate  treas- 
ure, almost  enough  to  load  a  pushcart  with. 
You  know  how  you  feel  when  you  pluck  a  stray 
quarter  from  the  L  stairs,  or  maybe  retrieve  a 
dollar  bill  that's  been  playin'  hide-and-seek  in 
the  gutter?  Multiply  that  by  the  thrill  you'd 
get  if  you'd  had  your  salary  raised  and  been 
offered  par  for  a  block  of  industrials  that  had 
been  wished  on  you  at  ten  a  share,  all  in  the 
same  day.  Then  you'll  have  a  vague  idea  of 
how  chirky  we  was  at  5:30  A.M.  as  we  stood 
around  in  front  of  that  mound  we  'd  torn  open, 
gawpin'  first  at  the  heap  of  loot  and  then  at 
each  other. 

Simple  way  to  pass  the  time,  eh?  But,  some- 
how, we  couldn't  seem  to  take  it  in  that  we'd 
actually  done  the  trick.  I  know  I  couldn't. 
I've  always  kidded  myself  along,  too,  that  I  was 
something  of  a  speed  artist  when  it  came  to 
framin'  up  a  situation.  I  expect  we  all  hand 
ourselves  little  floral  offerin's  like  that.  But 
when  we  get  up  against  anything  really  new — 
that  is,  some  sensation  we  ain't  happened  to 
meet  before — we  find  we  ain't  such  hair-trigger 
propositions,  after  all.  "We  catches  ourselves 


274  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

doin'  the  open-face  act,  while  the  little  stranger 
idea  stands  tappin'  patient  on  the  wood. 

Course,  treasure  huntin'  was  just  what  had 
lured  us  so  far  from  home.  For  nearly  three 
weeks,  now,  that  had  been  the  big  notion.  But 
cruisin'  around  in  a  yacht  lookin'  for  pirate 
gold  as  sort  of  a  freaky  lark  is  one  thing,  while 
actually  diggin'  it  out  and  seem'  it  heaped 
before  you  on  the  sand  is  another. 

Maybe  Captain  Killam  was  expectin'  to 
carry  the  game  this  far.  He's  just  cocky 
enough  for  that.  But  it's  plain  to  see  that 
Auntie  and  Mr.  Ellins  had  been  playin'  a  long 
shot  just  for  the  sport  of  holdin'  a  ticket  and 
watchin'  the  wheel  turn.  As  for  me  and  Vee, 
we'd  pooh-poohed  the  idea  consistent  from  the 
very  start,  and  had  only  been  let  in  along  to- 
wards the  last  because  we'd  happened  to  be 
useful.  I  don't  know  that  we  was  any  more 
staggered,  though,  than  the  rest  of  'em.  One 
sure  sign  that  Old  Hickory  and  Auntie  was  ex- 
cited was  the  fact  that  they'd  begun  callin' 
each  other  by  their  given  names. 

"Cornelia,"  says  he,  "we've  done  it.  We 
have  achieved  adventure." 

"In  spite  of  our  gray  hairs — eh,  Matthew?" 
says  she. 

"In  spite  of  everything,"  says  Old  Hickory. 
"True,  we  haven't  been  shipwrecked,  or  en- 


TORCHY  TAKES  A  RUNNING  JUMP  275 

dured  hardship,  or  spilled  any  gore.  But  we 
have  outfaced  a  lot  of  ridicule.  If  the  whiskered 
old  sinners  who  hid  away  this  stuff  had  met  as 
much  they  might  have  given  up  piracy  in  dis- 
gust. Who  knows!" 

With  that  Mr.  Ellins  snips  the  end  from  a  fat 
black  cigar,  jams  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and 
spreads  his  feet  wide  apart.  He's  costumed  in 
a  flannel  outing  shirt  open  at  the  neck,  and  a 
pair  of  khaki  trousers  stuffed  into  hip  rubber 
boots  with  the  tops  turned  down.  Also  his 
grizzly  hair  is  tousled  and  his  face  is  well 
smeared  up  with  soot  or  something.  Honest,  if 
he'd  had  a  patch  over  one  eye  and  gold  rings 
in  his  ears  he  could  have  qualified  as  a  bold,  bad 
buccaneer  himself.  Only  there's  an  amiable 
cut-up  twinkle  under  them  shaggy  brows  of 
his,  such  as  I'd  never  seen  there  before. 

* '  Killam, ' '  says  he, l  i  why  don 't  you  chortle  ? '  * 

"I — I  beg  pardon?"  says  Rupert. 

He's  sittin'  on  a  log,  busy  rollin'  a  cigarette, 
and  in  place  of  his  usual  solemn  air  he  looks 
satisfied  and  happy.  That's  as  much  as  he  can 
seem  to  loosen  up. 

"Great  pickled  persimmons,  man!"  snorts 
Old  Hickory.  "Let's  be  human.  Come,  we're 
all  tickled  to  death,  aren't  we?  Let's  make  a 
noise  about  it,  then.  Torchy,  can't  you  start 
something  appropriate  ? ' ' 


276  WILT  THOU  TOUCHY 

"Sure!"  says  I.  "How  about  doin'  a  war 
dance !  Yuh-huh !  Yuli-huh !  Get  in  step,  Vee. 
Now  we're  off.  Yuh-huh!  Yuh-huh!" 

"Fine!"  says  Old  Hickory,  droppin'  in  be- 
hind Vee  and  roarin'  out  the  Sagawa  patter 
like  a  steam  siren.  "Yuh-huh!  Yuh-huh! 
Come,  Captain.  Fall  in,  Cornelia.  Yuh-huh! 
Yuh-huh!" 

Would  you  believe  it!  Well,  Auntie  does.  I 
never  thought  it  was  in  the  old  girl.  But  say, 
there  she  is,  her  gray  hair  streamin'  down  over 
her  shoulders,  her  skirts  grabbed  up  on  either 
side,  and  lettin'  out  the  yelps  easy  and  joyous. 
Even  Rupert  has  to  grin  and  join  in. 

Round  and  round  that  treasure  heap  we 
prances,  like  so  many  East  Side  kids  'round  a 
Maypole  in  Central  Park,  with  the  yuh-huhs 
comin'  faster  and  louder,  until  finally  Auntie 
slumps  on  the  sand  and  uncorks  the  only  real 
genuine  laugh  I've  ever  known  her  to  be  guilty 
of.  No  wonder  Vee  stops  and  rushes  over  to 
her. 

"Why,  Auntie!"  says  Vee.  "What's  the 
matter?" 

"Matter?"  says  Auntie,  breathin'  hard  and 
chucklin'  in  between.  "Why,  my  dear  child,  I 
haven't  done  anything  so  absurd  as  this  since 
— since  I  was  forty,  and — and  it  has  done  me  a 
world  of  good,  I'm  sure." 


TORCHY  TAKES  A  RUNNING  JUMP  277 

What  do  you  know  about  that?  Admits  she 
carried  on  as  late  as  forty!  And  here  I'd  sup- 
posed she  was  born  scowlin'  about  the  time 
tabasco  sauce  was  invented.  Well,  once  more 
I  got  to  revise  my  ideas  about  her.  Maybe  she 
ain't  any  frostier  underneath  than  the  rest 
of  us. 

"Allow  me,  Cornelia,  to  present  you  with  the 
palm,"  says  Mr.  Ellins,  handin'  her  a  palmetto 
leaf.  "As  a  war  dancer  you  betray  evi- 
dence of  previous  proficiency.  Doesn't  she, 
Torchy?" 

"I'll  bet  she  could  have  had  Mrs.  Sittin'  Bull 
crowded  into  the  back  drop,"  says  I  grinnm*. 

And  Auntie  returns  the  grin. 

You  might  know  it  would  be  Rupert  who'd 
break  the  spell. 

"I  am  wondering,"  says  he,  "just  how  we 
are  going  to  get  all  this  treasure 'on  board  the 
yacht  without  the  crew  knowing  all  about  it." 

"Why  wonder?"  says  Old  Hickory.  "Leave 
it  to  Torchy." 

"Ah,  say!"  I  protests. 

"No  alibis,"  insists  Mr.  Ellins,  slappin*  me 
encouragin'  on  the  shoulder.  "  Strategy  is 
what  we  want  from  you,  young  man.  Plenty  of 
it  under  that  brilliant  hair  of  yours.  We'll 
give  you  three  minutes." 

And  of  course,  havin'  it  batted  up  to  me  that 


278  WILT  THOU  TOUCHY 

way  by  the  big  boss,  and  with  Vee  gazin'  at  me 
expectant,  I  had  to  produce. 

"You'll  stand  for  any  little  tale  I  tell  'em, 
eh?"  I  asks. 

"Absolutely,"  says  he. 

So  we  gets  to  work  with  the  dozen  or  more 
canvas  sacks  that  Rupert  has  been  foxy  enough 
to  bring  along.  In  the  bottom  we  puts  a  shovel- 
ful of  sand;  then  we  dumps  in  the  gold  pieces 
and  jewels  promiscuous,  with  more  sand  on  top, 
not  fillin'  any  sack  more'n  a  third  full.  That 
made  'em  easy  to  handle,  and  when  they  was 
tossed  into  the  launch  there  was  no  suspicious 
jingle  or  anything  like  that. 

Half  an  hour  later  we  was  chuggin'  away 
from  the  little  natural  jackpot  that  we'd 
opened  so  successful,  headed  for  the  Agnes. 
And,  believe  me,  the  old  yacht  looks  mighty 
homey  and  invitin',  lyin'  there  in  the  calm  of 
the  mornin'  with  all  her  awnin's  spread  and  a 
trickle  of  blue  smoke  driftin'  up  from  the  for- 
ward galley. 

"Any  orders?"  asks  Mr.  Ellins,  as  we  starts 
to  run  alongside. 

"I  got  a  few  words  to  say  to  them  early- 
bird  sailors  that's  house-cleanin'  the  decks," 
says  I.  "I'm  goin'  to  ask  you  to  stay  in  the 
boat,  Mr.  Ellins,  and  look  worried.  The  rest 
can  go  aboard.  Captain  Killam  might  rout 


TORCHY  TAKES  A  RUNNING  JUMP  279 

out  the  chef  and  get  action  on  an  early  break- 
fast." 

"Ay,  ay,  Captain  Torchy,"  says  Old  Hick- 
ory. "Here  we  are,  with  a  smiling  reception 
committee  to  greet  us,  as  usual." 

There  was  five  in  the  scrubbin'  squad,  in- 
cludin'  the  second  mate,  a  pie-faced  Swede  by 
the  name  of  Nelse;  and,  while  they  seems 
mighty  busy  with  pails  and  mops  and  brass 
polishers,  I  notice  they  all  manages  to  drift  over 
to  our  side  of  the  yacht.  You  couldn't  exactly 
accuse  them  of  wearin'  grins,  but  they  did  look 
as  though  something  amusin'  had  occurred  re- 
cent. Which  shows  we  was  still  doin'  duty  as 
human  jokes.  But  that's  just  what  I  makes 
my  play  on. 

As  soon  as  I  can  dash  up  the  landin'  steps,  I 
beckons  the  second  mate  to  follow  me  aft. 

"Call  your  bunch  back  here,  too,"  says  I,  "so 
there'll  be  no  bonehead  plays  made." 

Then,  when  I  gets  'em  together,  I  tips  Nelse 
the  knowin'  wink. 

"You  ain't  supposed  to  know  a  thing  about 
what's  been  goin'  on  to-night,  eh?"  I  asks. 

Nelse,  he  shrugs  his  shoulders. 

"Aye  yust  know  about  work,"  says  he,  lyin' 
free  and  easy. 

"That's  a  swell  motto  to  pin  on  the  wall," 
says  I.  "But  listen,  Nelse,  while  I  put  a  case  to 


280  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

you.  Suppose,  now,  you'd  been  tipped  off  that 
if  you  dug  under  a  certain  bush  in  a  certain 
back  yard  you'd  find — well,  something  worth 
luggin'  away?  Ah,  never  mind  shakin'  your 
head!  This  is  only  supposin'.  And  we'll  say 
the  neighbors  were  wise;  they'd  watched  you 
go  out  with  your  spade  and  lantern.  And  after 
you'd  near  broke  your  back  diggin'  you  found 
you'd  been  buffaloed.  Are  you  followin' 
me?" 

Who  says  a  Swede  is  all  solid  maple  from  the 
neck  up?  Nelse's  buttermilk  blue  eyes  flickers 
with  almost  human  intelligence.  Some  of  the 
men  smother  a  snicker. 

1 1  Well,"  I  goes  on,  "we'll  say  you  was  sensi- 
tive about  it.  In  order  to  duck  their  frivolous 
remarks  when  you  came  sneakin'  back,  maybe 
you'd  be  deceitful  enough  to  bluff  it  through. 
You  might  lug  something  home  in  the  bag,  even 
if  it  was  only  some  loose  real  estate.  I  don't 
say  you  would,  mind  you.  You  got  such  an 
honest,  cash-register  face.  But  there  are  shifty 
parties  who  could  do  that  and  never  bat  an  eye. 
I  ain't  mentionin'  any  names." 

I  didn't  need  to.  To  a  man,  they  glances 
over  the  rail  at  Mr.  Ellins. 

"Then  that's  all,"  says  I.  "Only  you  got  to 
lay  off  with  them  merry  expressions  when  you 
lug  those  sacks  aboard.  Handle  'em  careful 


TORCHY  TAKES  A  RUNNING  JUMP  281 

and  reverent,  and  stow  'em  in  the  main  cabin 
where  you're  told.  If  you  do  it  well  I  expect 
there'll  be  more  or  less  in  it  for  all  of  you. 
Now,  then,  got  your  cues,  have  you?" 

They  salutes  respectful. 

"Then  get  busy  with  the  stevedore  stuff," 
says  I. 

And  say,  if  they'd  been  coached  by  a  stage 
manager  they  couldn't  have  done  better. 
Course,  I  did  catch  'em  passin'  the  wink  to  each 
other  as  two  of  'em  marches  across  the  deck 
holdin'  a  sack  tender  between  'em;  but  that  was 
when  they  knew  nobody  but  me  could  see.  While 
they  was  down  where  Old  Hickory  had  his  eye 
on  'em,  they  was  as  solemn  as  pallbearers.  But 
I'll  bet  it  wasn't  many  minutes  after  they  got 
to  their  own  quarters  before  the  hearty  haw- 
haws  was  turned  loose  in  four  different  lan- 
guages. 

Meanwhile  Auntie  and  Mr.  Ellins  has  been 
lookin'  on  without  gettin'  the  plot  of  the  piece. 

"I  must  say,"  Auntie  comes  out  with,  "that  I 
see  no  very  subtle  strategy  about  that  perform- 
ance. Those  men  must  have  suspected.  What 
did  they  think  they  were  carrying  on  board  so 
carefully?" 

"Sand,"  says  I. 

"Huh!"  grunts  Old  Hickory. 

"You  said  you'd  stand  for  it,"  says  I.  "And 


282  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

all  you  owe  'em  is  about  two  apiece  for  helpin' 
you  save  your  face." 

"My  face,  eh?"  says  Old  Hickory. 

"Someone  had  to  be  the  goat,"  says  I. 

"Why,  to  be  sure,"  cuts  in  Auntie,  beamin' 
good-natured  again.  "And  I  think  Torchy 
managed  it  very  cleverly." 

"Thanks,  Mrs.  Hemmingway,"  says  I. 
"Maybe  you'll  do  as  much  for  me  some 
time,  eh?" 

"Why — er — certainly  I  will,"  says  Auntie, 
catchin'  her  breath  a  little. 

I  had  just  sense  enough  to  let  it  ride  at  that, 
for  you  can't  push  a  thing  too  far  before  break- 
fast. But  I  didn't  mean  to  let  this  grand  little 
idea  of  mine  grow  cold.  It  struck  me  that,  if 
ever  I  was  goin'  to  call  for  a  show-down  from 
Auntie,  this  was  the  day. 

So,  when  I  finally  turned  in  for  a  forenoon 
nap,  I  was  busier  plottin'  out  just  how  it  ought 
to  be  done  than  I  was  at  makin*  up  lost  sleep. 
I  ain't  one  of  them  that  can  romp  around  all 
night,  though,  and  then  do  the  fretful  toss  on 
the  hay  for  very  long  after  I've  hit  the  pillow. 
First  thing  I  knew,  I  was  pryin'  my  eyes  open 
to.  find  that  it's  almost  1:30  P.M.,  and  with  the 
sun  beatin'  straight  down  on  the  deck  over- 
head I  don't  need  to  turn  on  any  steam  heat 
in  the  stateroom. 


TORCHY  TAKES  A  RUNNING  JUMP  283 

A  good  souse  in  a  tubful  of  salty  Gulf  water 
wakes  me  up  all  over,  and  when  I've  dolled  my- 
self in  a  fresh  Palm  Beach  suit  and  a  soft  col- 
lared shirt  I'm  feelin'  like  Winnin'  Willie. 

As  it  happens,  Vee  and  I  has  the  luncheon 
table  to  ourselves  that  day,  neither  Auntie  nor 
Mr.  Ellins  havin'  shown  up,  and  the  others 
bein'  all  through.  And  somehow  Vee  always 
does  have  that  look  of — well,  as  though  she'd 
just  blown  in  from  the  rose  garden.  You  know, 
kind  of  clean  and  crisp  and — and  honeysuckley. 
Maybe  it's  that  pinky- white  complexion  of 
hers,  or  the  simple  way  she  dresses.  Anyway, 
she  looks  good  enough  to  eat.  Don't  do  to  tell 
'em  so,  though. 

"Good  morning,  Torchy,"  says  she,  chirky 
and  sweet. 

"Wrong  on  two  counts,  young  lady,"  says  I, 
ticklin'  her  ear  playful  as  I  passes. 

"Really?"  says  she,  delayin'  her  attack  on 
a  grapefruit.  "Just  how?" 

"It's  afternoon,  for  one  item,"  says  I. 
"And  say,  why  not  ditch  that  juvenile  hail? 
Torchy,  Torchy!  Seems  to  me  I  ought  to  be 
mistered  to-day.  Someone  ought  to  do  it, 
anyway. ' ' 

"Why  to-day  any  more  than  yesterday?" 
asks  Vee. 

I  waits  until   the   dinin'-room   steward  has 


284  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

faded,  and  then  I  remarks  haughty :  ' '  Maybe  it 
ain't  come  to  you  that  I'm  a  near-plute  now." 

' '  Pooh ! ' '  says  Vee.  ' t  You  're  not  a  bit  richer 
than  I  am." 

"Boy,  page  the  auditin'  committee!"  says 
I.  "How  strong  do  you  tally  up?" 

' '  I  'm  sure  I  don 't  know, ' '  says  she.  ' '  Neither 
do  you,  Mister  Torchy." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  do,"  says  I.  "I've  got  just  the 
same  as  you." 

Vee  runs  out  the  tip  of  her  tongue  at  me. 

"That's  the  sort  of  disposition,"  says  she, 
"which  goes  with  red  hair." 

"Towhead  yourself!"  says  I.  "What  kind 
of  a  scramble  has  the  cook  got  on  the  eggs 
to-day?" 

"You'd  better  order  soft-boiled,"  says  Vee. 
"I'll  open  them  for  you." 

"Will  you?"  says  I.  "Just  this  once,  or 
does  that  stand?" 

"This — this  is  so. abrupt!"  says  Vee,  snick- 
erin'. 

"You  tell  it  well,"  says  I.  "Just  as  though 
I  hadn't  been  doin'  my  best  to  dodge  the  net! 
But  what  chance  has  a  man  got  when  he's  cor- 
nered at  breakfast  and  she  offers  to —  Ouch!" 

Vee  springs  one  of  them  boardin '-school 
tricks  of  hers,  shootin'  a  teaspoonful  of  water 
accurate  across  the  table. 


TORCHY  TAKES  A  RUNNING  JUMP  285 

"Rough-houser!"  says  I,  moppin'  my  eye 
with  the  napkin.  "If  your  Auntie  can't  train 
you,  maybe  she'll  let  me  try." 

"Oh,  no  doubt  she  would,"  says  Vee. 

"I  might  ask  her,"  I  suggests. 

"I'd  love  to  be  around  when  you  did,"  says 
she,  rollin'  her  eyes  impish. 

"Meanin'  I  wouldn't  dare,  eh?"  says  I. 

Vee  only  dabbles  her  pink  finger-ends  in  the 
little  glass  bowl,  and  chuckles  like  she  was  re- 
memberin'  something  funny. 

"Suppose  I  did  and  got  away  with  it?" 
I  asks. 

Vee  gives  me  a  quizzin*  glance  from  them 
gray  eyes,  one  of  the  kind  that  sort  of  warms 
me  up  under  my  vest. 

"I  couldn't  decorate  you  with  the  Victoria 
Cross,"  says  she. 

"But  would  you  take  a  chance  on  the  re- 
sults?" I  asks. 

"One  of  the  silly  things  I've  learned  from 
you,"  says  Vee,  lowerin'  her  eyelids  fetchin', 
"is  to — to  take  a  chance." 

"Vee!"  says  I,  startin'  to  dash  around  the 
table. 

"Hush!"  says  she,  wavin'  me  back.  "Here 
come  your  eggs." 

Say,  what  went  on  durin'  the  rest  of  the  day 
I  couldn't  tell.  I  expect  it  was  a  good  deal  the 


286  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

same  kind  of  an  afternoon  we'd  been  havin' 
right  along,  but  to  me  it  was  three  X  double  A 
with  the  band  playin'.  I  was  light  in  the  head 
and  I  had  springs  in  my  heels.  Everything 
and  everybody  looked  good  to  me. 

I  jollied  Old  Hickory  into  lettin*  me  tip  the 
sailors  that  had  lugged  the  sacks  aboard,  and 
I  threw  in  some  of  his  best  cigars  just  by  way 
of  relievin'  my  feelin's.  Whenever  I  passed 
Captain  Rupert  Killam  I  hammered  him  on  the 
back  folksy  and  told  him  he  sure  was  some  dis- 
coverer. I  even  let  Mrs.  Mumford  feed  me  an 
earful  about  how  the  late  dear  Mr.  Mumford 
always  remembered  to  send  home  a  bunch  of 
roses  on  their  weddin'  anniversary.  Rather 
than  revisit  the  scene  himself,  I  suppose. 

But  when  it  come  to  playin '  opposite  Auntie 
— say,  I  was  right  there  with  the  Percy-boy 
stuff:  givin'  her  a  hand  up  the  stairs  when  she 
came  on  deck,  leadin'  her  to  a  chair  on  the 
shady  side,  and  hintin'  how  she  looked  mighty 
chipper  after  an  all-night  session  such  as  we'd 
had.  Talk  about  smooth  stuff!  I  had  the  in- 
side of  a  banana  peel  lookin'  like  a  nutmeg 
grater. 

Auntie  falls  for  it,  too.  She  has  me  whisper 
in  her  ear  just  where  the  treasure  is  stowed 
and  how  complete  we'd  thrown  the  crew  off 
the  trail.  I  works  up  that  sketch  of  my  talk 


TORCHY  TAKES  A  RUNNING  JUMP  287 

with  the  Swede  second  mate  until  I  had  her 
shoulders  shakin'. 

'  *  What  a  boy  you  are ! ' '  says  she,  gaspy. 

" Don't  overlook  the  fact  that  I'll  be  votin' 
next  year,"  says  I. 

"How  absurd!"  says  Auntie. 

"We  do  grow  up,  you  know,"  says  I.  "It's 
a  habit  we  have.  And  now,  how  about  a  glass 
of  that  iced  pineapple  the  steward  fixes  so  well? 
Sure!  Lemme  fetch  a  couple." 

The  climax  was  when  she  got  me  to  holdin'  a 
skein  of  yarn  for  her.  As  Old  Hickory  strolls 
by  and  sees  me  with  my  hands  stuck  out,  I 
thought  he  was  goin'  to  swallow  his  cigar. 

Still,  I  couldn't  get  just  the  right  cue.  Not 
that  I'd  mapped  out  anything  definite.  I  only 
knew  I  had  something  special  and  particular  to 
say  to  Auntie,  but  I  couldn't  spring  it  unless 
I  got  the  proper  hunch.  So  the  afternoon 
petered  out,  and  the  sun  dropped  into  the  Gulf, 
and  folks  begun  disappearin*  to  dress  for 
dinner. 

The  word  had  been  passed  that  this  was  to 
be  a  special  event  to-night,  so  it's  full  white 
flannels  for  the  men  and  evenin'  gowns  for  the 
ladies.  You  see,  we  hadn't  told  the  outsiders  a 
word.  In  fact,  they  didn't  even  know  we'd 
been  away  from  the  yacht  durin'  the  night. 

It's  a  swell  feed  the  steward  piits  on,  too, 


288  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

considerin'  where  we  was.  Nothin'  dry  about 
it,  either;  for,  while  Mr.  Ellins  ain't  a  great 
hand  to  overdo  irrigation,  he's  no  guide  to  the 
Great  Desert.  There  was  silver  ice  buckets  on 
the  floor,  and  J.  Dudley  Simms  lost  a  side  bet 
to  Professor  Leonidas  Barr  on  namin'  the 
vintage.  He  was  five  years  too  young. 

Not  until  coffee  had  been  served  did  Old 
Hickory  give  any  hint  that  this  was  to  be  a 
reg'lar  celebration,  with  post-prandial  doin's. 
Then  he  proceeds  to  chase  out  all  the  help, 
lockin'  the  doors  behind  'em.  Next  he  has  me 
pull  the  shades  over  the  cabin  windows. 

"Friends,"  says  he,  "you  all  know  what  it 
was  that  we  came  down  here  for.  It  sounded 
foolish  in  New  York,  I  acknowledge.  Even  in 
these  surroundings,  our  enterprise  may  have 
appealed  to  some  of  you  as  a  bit  fantastic.  But 
— Torchy,  will  you  and  Captain  Killam  bring 
those  sacks?" 

Did  we  have  'em  goggle-eyed?  Say,  when 
we  dumped  peck  after  peck  of  treasure  and 
sand  in  the  middle  of  the  dinner  table,  and 
they  got  to  pawin'  over  those  weird  old  gold 
pieces  and  them  samples  of  antique  jewelry,  it 
was  a  knockout  for  fair. 

"My  word!"  gasps  J.  Dudley.  "You  must 
feel  like  successful  bank  robbers." 

"Wonderful!"  says  Professor  Barr,  breath- 


TORCHY  TAKES  A  RUNNING  JUMP  289 

in'  excited  through  his  whiskers.  "Why,  some 
of  these  doubloons  must  have  been  coined 
during  the  reign  of— 

"Cornelia,"  breaks  in  Mrs.  Mumford,  "will 
you  look  at  that  old  brooch.  It's  exquisite!" 

"Then  it  is  yours  as  a  souvenir  of  the  trip," 
says  Auntie — just  like  that. 

Next,  Dudley  and  the  Professor  was  asked 
to  pick  out  a  trinket.  After  which  Mr.  Ellins 
suggests  that  they  divide  the  loot  into  five 
equal  piles,  and  that  we  draw  numbers  to  see 
who  get  which.  Rupert  wasn't  strong  for  this 
free  and  casual  way  of  splittin'  the  gate  re- 
ceipts, but  he  gives  in.  And  when  we  each  has 
our  heap  in  front  of  us,  with  the  sand  scraped 
into  the  middle  of  the  cloth,  Old  Hickory  has 
the  glasses  filled  once  more,  and  starts  up  that 
pirate  song  of  his : 

"  Fifteen  men  on  a  dead  man's  chest— 
Yo-ho-ho!  and  a  bottle  of  rum." 

Right  in  the  middle  of  the  festivities,  too,  I 
takes  my  runnin'  jump.    Pickin'  out  a  quaint 
old  ring  from  my  collection,  I  slips  around  be- 
side Auntie  and  snuggles  up  confidential. 
"Well,  Torchy,"  says  she,  "what  is  it?" 
"It's  a  big  favor,"  says  I.    "See  this?    I 
want  you  to  let  me  ask  Vee  to  wear  this  for — 
for  keeps.    Can  I?" 


290  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

"You — you  mean — "  she  begins. 

' 'TJh-huh ! ' '  says  I.  "Until  some  time  I  can 
fit  one  on — well,  one  that  the  best  man  hands 
me.  Come  on,  Auntie.  Have  a  heart!" 

"You  ridiculous  boy!"  says  she.  "If  you 
must,  though — " 

Say,  I  wasn't  lookin'  for  that  next  move  of 
hers.  Think  of  it — Auntie !  And  she  lands  one 
right  on  my  cheek,  too.  Everyone  sees  it. 
And,  while  I'm  pinkin'  up  like  a  cranberry  tart, 
Old  Hickory  sings  out  gleeful: 

"Tut,  tut,  Cornelia !  What  is  this  all  about?" 

"I  suppose,"  says  Auntie,  "that  we  must 
drink  a  toast  to  these  youngsters  of  ours.  That 
is,  if  Verona  insists  on  being  so  foolish." 

"How  about  it,  Vee?"  I  whispers,  capturin' 
her  left  hand.  "Do  we  let  'em  drink?" 

"Silly!"  says  she.     "The  other  finger." 

It's  a  bit  public,  I  admit.  Might  as  well  have 
hired  a  hall.  But  they  all  seems  to  enjoy  hand- 
in'  us  the  jolly.  Mr.  Ellins  makes  a  reg'lar 
speech,  tellin'  how  fond  he  is  of  both  of  us  and 
how  this  event  pleases  him  more'n  findin'  the 
buried  treasure.  He  winds  up  by  askin'  if 
everybody  ain't  about  ready  to  start  back  for 
New  York.  The  vote  is  unanimous. 

"Why  not  to-night?"  asks  J.  Dudley. 

" To-night  it  shall  be,"  says  Old  Hickory. 


TORCHY  TAKES  A  RUNNING  JUMP  291 

' 'Say,  Mr.  Ellins,"  I  breaks  out  just  then, 
"lemme  pass  the  word  on  that,  will  you!" 

And,  when  I  gets  the  nod,  I  breezes  out  on 
deck  and  up  to  the  Captain's  stateroom. 

"Cap,"  says  I,  "welcome  words  from  the 
boss." 

"Sailing  orders?"  he  asks. 

"Yep!"  says  I.  "You're  to  tie  her  loose 
from  Florida  as  quick  as  you  know  how,  and 
head  her  straight  for  the  wet  end  of  Broad- 
way. Get  me?  Broadway!  Say,  but  don't 
that  listen  good?" 


CHAPTER 


A    LITTLE    SPEED    ON    THE    HOME    STBETCH 

AND,  speakin*  of  thrills,  what  beats  gettin* 
back  to  your  own  home  town?  Why,  say,  that 
mornin'  when  we  unloads  from  the  Agnes  after 
a  whole  month  of  battin'  around,  New  York 
looked  to  me  like  it  had  been  touched  up  with 
gold  leaf  and  ruby  paint.  Things  seemed  so 
fresh  and  crisp,  and  all  so  sort  of  natural  and 
familiar.  And  the  sounds  and  the  smells! 
It's  all  good. 

Course,  there  wasn't  any  pelicans  floatin' 
around  in  the  North  River,  nor  any  cocoanut 
palms  wavin'  over  West  Thirty-fourth  Street. 
As  our  taxis  bumped  us  along,  we  dodged  be- 
tween coffee-colored  heaps  of  slush  that  had 
once  been  snow,  and  overhead  all  that  waved  in 
the  breeze  was  dingy  blankets  hung  out  on  the 
fire-escapes.  Also  we  finds  Broadway  ripped 
up  in  new  spots,  with  the  sewer  pipes  exposed 
jaunty. 

But  somehow  them  things  are  what  you  ex- 
pect. And  you  feel  that,  after  all,  there's  only 
one  reg'lar  place  on  the  map  —  here,  where  yon 

292 


SPEED  ON  THE  HOME  STRETCH    293 

can  either  pay  a  nickel  for  a  hot-dog  breakfast 
off  a  pushcart,  or  blow  in  ninety  cents  for  a 
pair  of  yesterday's  eggs  in  a  Fifth  Avenue 
grill:  where  you  can  see  lovely  lady  plutesses 
roll  by  in  their  heliotrope  limousines,  or  watch 
little  Rosie  Chianti  sail  down  the  asphalt  on 
one  roller  skate. 

Uh-huh!  It's  a  great  place  to  get  back  to, 
take  it  from  me.  Specially  when  you  hit  it  like 
I  did,  a  two-way  winner  with  a  full-sized  por- 
tion of  pirate  loot,  and  Vee  wearin'  a  ring 
of  mine. 

And  maybe  I  didn't  enjoy  driftin'  into  the 
Corrugated  general  offices,  with  everybody, 
from  fair-haired  Vincent  up  to  Mr.  Robert, 
givin'  me  the  glad  hail.  Some  different,  eh, 
from  the  first  time  I  struck  there,  'way  back  in 
the  early  days?  I  was  one  of  a  bunch  then, 
trailin'  a  want  ad;  and  when  Piddie  had  us 
lined  up,  it  looked  like  I'd  be  only  an  "also 
ran"  until  Old  Hickory  pads  past,  discovered 
my  pink  thatch,  and  has  me  signed  on  as  office 
boy. 

Different !  Why,  inside  of  two  minutes  I  be- 
gun to  believe  I  was  somebody.  Vincent  starts 
it  when  he  swings  the  brass  gate  wide,  just  as 
I  used  to  do  for  bank  presidents. 

"Good  morning,  sir,"  says  he.  "Glad  to  see 
you  back,  sir." 


294  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

"Vincent,"  says  I,  "there's  two  of  us,  then; 
only  I'm  glad  all  over." 

I  hadn't  counted  on  that  row  of  lady  typists, 
either.  Honest,  I  never  faced  such  a  battery  of 
friendly  smiles  in  all  my  more  or  less  cheerful 
career.  Even  Miss  Muggs,  who  wears  a  busi- 
ness face  that  would  have  a  head  undertaker 
lookin'  frivolous,  loosens  up  her  mouth  corners 
for  a  second;  while  as  for  some  of  the  other 
self-startin'  queens — well,  they  had  me  rosy 
in  the  ears,  all  right.  I  hurries  past  to  where 
Mr.  Piddie  is  tryin'  to  make  his  ingrowin'  dig- 
nity let  loose  its  grip  for  a  minute. 

"Ah!"  says  he.  "Back  from  the  sunny 
South,  eh?  And  how  did  you  find  Florida?" 

"Easy,"  says  I.  "We  looked  it  up  on  the 
map." 

"No,  no,"  says  Piddie;  "I  mean,  how  was 
the  weather  down  there?" 

"No  weather  at  all,"  says  I.  "They  just 
have  climate.  How  are  things  around  the  shop, 
though?" 

"Very  satisfactory,"  says  Piddie,  rubbin* 
his  hands. 

"Bound  to  be,"  says  I,  "with  you  and  Mr. 
Robert  sittin'  on  the  lid." 

With  which  soothin'  josh  and  a  pat  on  the 
shoulder,  I  slips  through  into  the  private 


. 

9  £ 

o  w 


w 
H 
H 


SPEED  ON  THE  HOME  STRETCH    295 

office,  where  Mr.  Robert  sits  puffin'  a  cigarette 
placid  in  front  of  a  heaped-up  desk.  "When  he 
sees  me,  he  grins. 

"Well,  well!"  says  he,  shovin'  out  the  cordial 
palm.  ' '  So  the  treasure  seekers  have  returned, 
have  they?"  And  he  chuckles. 

"Uh-huh!"  says  I,  doin'  a  little  grin  on  my 
own  account. 

"At  least,"  he  goes  on,  "you  have  a  fine 
tropical  complexion  to  show  for  your  trip. 
Little  else,  I  presume  ? ' ' 

"Brace  yourself,  Mr.  Robert,"  says  I,  "for 
you  got  a  jolt  cominV 

"Why,"  says  he,  "you  can't  mean  that — " 

I  nods. 

"Rupert  had  the  right  dope,"  says  I.  "It 
was  just  where  he  said  it  was — jewels  and 
everything.  Why,  say,  we  got  enough  to  stock 
a  museum — sacks  full." 

"Oh,  I  say,  Torchy!"  says  he,  after  starin' 
at  me  a  second.  "What's  the  sense!" 

"I  don't  claim  there's  any  sense  to  it,"  says 
I.  "It  was  the  simplest  stunt  you  ever  saw. 
We  just  went  and  dug,  that's  all.  But  there 
was  the  stuff.  And  we  got  away  with  it.  You 
might's  well  get  used  to  believin',  though,  for 
I'm  applyin'  right  now  for  a  block  of  Corru- 
gated preferred.  That's  what  I'm  goin'  to 
soak  my  share  into." 


296  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 


"Your  share?"  says  he.  "But  I  didn't 
understand  that  you — " 

"Vee  and  I  helped  locate  the  treasure 
mound,"  I  explains,  "and  got  counted  in  just 
in  time.  And  say,  the  best  is  yet  to  come.  It's 
goin'  to  be  Vee  and  me  for  keeps  pretty  soon." 

"Wha-a-at!"  says  he.  "You've  won  over 
Auntie?" 

"Eight  and  reg'lar,"  says  I.  "Vee's  wearin' 
the  ring." 

Say,  Mr.  Kobert's  got  a  grip  on  him  when  he 
gets  real  enthusiastic.  I  could  feel  it  in  my 
fingers  for  hours  after.  Then  he  had  to  call  in 
Piddie  and  tell  him,  and  by  noon  the  word  has 
been  passed  all  through  the  offices.  I  expect  it 
started  modest,  but  by  the  time  it  got  to  that 
bunch  of  young  hicks  in  the  bond  room  they  had 
it  that  I  was  going  to  marry  a  Newport  heir- 
ess, resign  from  the  Corrugated,  and  live 
abroad. 

"In  some  swell  Scotch  castle,  I  suppose?" 
one  of  'em  asks. 

"Unless  I  can  rent  Buckingham  Palace," 
says  I.  "Say,  it's  a  wonder  you  boys  would 
let  anybody  feed  you  a  chunk  like  that !  New- 
port heiress  be  blowed!  She's  just  a  nice  New 
York  girl,  one  I've  known  four  or  five  years; 
and  when  it  comes  to  settlin'  down  we'll  most 
likely  look  for  three  rooms  on  the  top  floor 


SPEED  ON  THE  HOME  STRETCH    297 

with  a  two-by-four  bath  and  a  foldin'  kitchen- 
ette.   I'll  be  satisfied  at  that,  though." 

It's  a  great  state  of  mind  to  be  in.  I  hope  I 
didn't  look  as  foolish  as  I  felt.  If  I  had  I  guess 
they'd  have  had  most  of  my  private  seccing 
gone  over  careful.  But  nobody  seemed  to  sus- 
pect how  giddy  I  was  in  the  head.  I  goes  car- 
omin'  around,  swappin'  smiles  with  perfect 
strangers  and  actin'  like  I  thought  life  was  just 
a  continuous  picnic,  with  no  dishes  to  wash 
afterwards. 

Course,  my  reg'lar  evenin'  program  is  to 
doll  up  after  dinner  and  drop  around.  I'll 
admit  Auntie  hadn't  issued  any  standin'  invi- 
tation, but  if  Vee  was  expectin'  me  that's 
enough.  And  she  was.  We  went  to  shows 
some,  or  took  walks  up  the  Drive,  or  just  sat  in 
the  window  nook  and  indulged  in  merry  con- 
versation. Once  we  had  a  whale  of  a  time, 
when  Mr.  Robert  gives  a  perfectly  good  dinner 
dance  for  us.  Oh,  the  real  thing — Cupid  place 
cards,  a  floral  centerpiece  representin'  twin 
hearts,  and  all  that  sort  of  stuff.  I  begun  to 
feel  as  if  it  was  all  over  but  the  shoutin'.  Even 
got  to  scoutin'  around  at  odd  times,  pricin' 
small  apartments  and  gazin'  into  furniture 
store  windows. 

And  then —  Well,  it  was  just  a  little  chat 
Auntie  has  over  the  'phone  that  takes  most  of 


298  WILT  THOU  TOBCHY 

the  joy  out  of  life.  I  didn't  notice  what  she 
was  sayin'  at  first,  bein'  busy  tryin'  to  draw 
out  the  floor  plan  of  a  cute  four-room  affair  I'd 
inspected  recent.  All  of  a  sudden,  though,  I 
pricks  up  my  ears. 

"But  it's  so  hot  in  Jamaica,"  Auntie  is 
tellin'  this  friend  of  hers — "that  is,  unless  one 
goes  to  Montego  Bay,  and  the  hotel  there — 
Oh,  Newcastle?  Yes,  that  is  delightful,  but — 
Can  one,  really?  An  army  officer 's  villa !  That 
would  be  ideal,  up  there  in  the  mountains. 
And  Jamaica  always  routs  my  rheumatism. 
For  three  months!  When  can  we  get  a  good 
steamer?  The  tenth.  That  would  give  us  time. 
Well,  I  think  we  shall  join  you.  Let  me  sleep 
on  it.  I'll  call  you  about  noon  to-morrow? 
Good-by." 

Meanwhile  Vee  and  I  are  gazin'  blank  at  each 
other.  We  don't  need  any  diagram  to  under- 
stand what  Auntie  is  up  to.  Just  one  of  her 
old  tricks — a  speedy  packin'  up  and  a  casual 
getaway  for  Jamaica.  Say,  wouldn't  that  crack 
your  faith  in  human  nature  ?  And  she  proceeds 
to  announce  her  scheme  as  placid  as  if  it  was 
something  she'd  thought  out  special  for  our 
benefit. 

"Excuse  me,"  says  I,  "but  you  ain't  plan- 
nin'  on  Vee's  goin'  along,  too,  are  you?" 

"Why,  certainly,"  says  she.    "Verona  could 


SPEED  ON  THE  HOME  STRETCH    299 

not  stay  here  alone.  And  at  this  season  the 
mountains  of  Jamaica  are — " 

"It's  utterly  stupid  at  Newcastle,"  breaks 
in  Vee.  "Nothing  but  a  lot  of  black  soldiers, 
and  a  few  fat  English  officers,  and  seeing  the 
same  dozen  people  at  teas  three  times  a  week. ' ' 

"Besides,"  I  puts  in,  "it  would  be  a  long 
jump  for  me  to  run  down  for  over  Sunday, 
wouldn't  it!" 

"How  unreasonable  of  you  both,"  says 
Auntie.  "Now,  you  young  people  have  been 
together  a  great  deal  of  late.  You  can  well 
afford  to  be  separated  for  a  few  months." 

I  goes  choky  in  the  throat.  There  was  a  lot 
of  points  I  wanted  to  make,  but  I  couldn't  seem 
to  state  'em  fast  enough.  All  I  can  get  out  is : 
"But — but  see  here;  we — we  was  sort  of  plan- 
ninj  to — to  be — " 

"Nonsense!"  cuts  in  Auntie.  "You  are 
hardly  more  than  children,  either  of  you.  It  '& 
absurd  enough  of  you  becoming  engaged.  But 
beyond  that —  Oh,  not  for  years  and  years." 

Oh,  yes,  there  was  a  lot  more  to  the 'debate — 
on  our  side.  I  registered  strong,  with  some 
cuttin'  remark  about  bein'  treated  like  a  scrap 
of  paper.  As  for  Auntie,  she  simply  stands 
pat.  "Not  for  years  and  years."  That's 
where  her  argument  begins  and  ends.  Not  that 
she's  messy  about  it,  or  intends  to  be  mean. 


300  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

She  simply  don't  take  our  little  plans  serious. 
They  don't  count. 

"There,  there!"  says  she.  "We'll  say  no 
more  about  it,"  and  sails  off  to  sort  out  the 
dresses  she'll  want  to  stow  in  her  trunk. 

"Huh!"  says  I,  glancin'  at  Vee.  "Merry 
idea  of  hers,  eh  f  Years  and  years !  Talks  like 
she  thought  gettin'  married  was  some  game  like 
issuin'  long-term  bonds  maturin'  about  1950." 

"If  you  only  knew  how  stupid  and  dull  it's 
going  to  be  for  me  there !"  says  Vee,  poutin'. 

"With  you  that  far  off,"  says  I,  "New  York 
ain't  goin'  to  seem  so  gay  for  a  certain  party." 

"I  suppose  I  must  go,  though,"  says  Vee. 

"I  don't  get  it,"  says  I. 

"Oh,  but  I  must,"  says  she. 

Durin'  the  next  week  we  talked  it  over  r,  lot; 
but,  so  far  as  I  can  remember,  we  only  said 
about  the  same  thing.  It  came  out  that  this 
friend  of  Auntie's  was  one  that  Vee  never 
could  stand  for,  anyway :  a  giddy  old  dame  who 
kalsomined  her  face,  was  free  with  advice  on 
bringin'  up  nieces,  and  was  a  bridge  and  em- 
broidery fiend. 

"And  I  shall  be  left  to  sit  around,"  says  Vee, 
"bored  stiff." 

I  knew  it  wasn't  just  a  whim  of  hers ;  for  one 
evenin',  along  towards  the  last,  I  found  her 
with  her  eyelids  red. 


SPEED  ON  THE  HOME  STRETCH    301 

"Been  cryin'f"  I  asks. 

"A  little,"  says  Vee.  "Silly  thing  to  do 
when  one's  packing." 

"See  here,  Vee,"  says  I;  "I  ought  to  be 
doing  something  about  this." 

"But  you  can't,"  says  she.  "No  one  can.  I 
must  trot  along  with  Auntie,  just  as  I  always 
have,  and  stay  until — until  she 's  ready  to  come 
back." 

"Then  it'll  be  a  case  of  movin'  on  somewhere 
for  the  summer,  I  expect — Nova  Scotia  or  Ice- 
land?" says  I. 

Vee  nods  and  lets  out  a  sigh. 

"If  we  was  a  pair  of  wild  ducks,  now," 
says  I. 

At  which  she  snickers  kind  of  hysterical  and 
— well,  it's  the  first  time  I  ever  knew  her  to  do 
the  sob  act.  Also  I'd  never  been  quite  sure  be- 
fore that  I  was  much  more  to  her  than  sort  of 
an  amusin'  pal.  But  when  she  grips  me  around 
the  neck  that  way,  and  snuggles  her  head  of 
straw-colored  hair  down  on  my  necktie,  and 
just  naturally  cuts  loose  for  a  good  cry — say, 
then  I  knew. 

I  knew  it  was  to  be  me  and  Vee  from  then 
on.  I  ain't  givin'  it  any  fancy  name.  We  ain't 
either  of  us  the  mushy  kind,  I  hope.  But  I  felt 
that  she  needed  me  to  stand  by,  that  I  could  be 
of  some  use.  That  was  thrillin'  and  wonder^ 


302  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

ful  enough  for  me.  And  as  I  folded  her  in 
gentle  and  let  her  turn  the  sprinkler  on  a 
brand-new  plaid  silk  scarf  that  I'd  just  put  up 
a  dollar  for,  I  set  my  jaw  firm  and  says  to  my- 
self, "Torchy,  here's  where  you  quit  the 
youths'  department  for  good.  Into  the  men's 
section  for  you,  and  see  that  you  act  the  part. ' ' 

"Vee,"  I  whispers,  "leave  it  to  me.  I  didn't 
know  just  where  I  stood  before.  But  I'm  out 
of  the  trance  now,  and  I'm  set  for  action. 
Leave  it  to  me." 

"All  right,  Torchy,"  says  she  a  bit  choky, 
but  tryin'  to  work  up  a  smile.  "You  can  do 
nothing,  though. " 

Couldn't  I?  Maybe  not.  I  was  out  to  make 
a  stab,  anyway.  There  was  a  couple  of  days 
left  before  the  steamer  sailed,  and  I'd  just 
passed  a  resolution  that  Vee  was  to  stay  be- 
hind. Beyond  that  my  program  was  vague. 
After  I'd  walked  a  dozen  blocks  it  begun  to  get 
clearer.  My  first  stop  was  at  the  Ellins  house ; 
and  when  I'd  succeeded  in  convincin'  the  new 
butler  that  it  was  no  good  tryin'  to  stall  me  off, 
I'm  led  into  the  lib'ry,  where  Old  Hickory  is 
sittin'  in  front  of  the  big  marble  fireplace,  half 
way  through  his  second  cigar.  What  I  puts  up 
to  him  is  when  I  can  realize  on  my  share  of  the 
pirate  loot. 

"Why,"  says  he,  "the  dealers  haven't  made 


SPEED  ON  THE  HOME  STEETCH    303 

a  report  as  yet,  but  if  you  wish  an  advance  I 
should  be  happy  to— 

"To-morrow!"  says  I. 

' '  Certainly, ' '  says  he.  ' '  Say  five  thousand — 
ten—" 

"Make  it  five,"  says  I.  "May  I  call  up  Mr. 
Eobert  from  here  ? ' ' 

Mrs.  Eobert  Ellins  tells  me  this  is  his  night 
at  the  club,  so  all  I  has  to  do  is  hop  a  Fifth 
Avenue  stage,  and  in  less'n  twenty  minutes 
he's  broke  away  from  his  billiard  game  and  is 
listenin'  while  I  state  the  situation  to  him. 

"Course,"  says  I,  "it  would  bump  Auntie 
some,  but  seems  to  me  it's  comin'  to  her." 

"Quite  a  reasonable  conclusion,"  says  he. 

"It  ain't  as  if  she  needed  Vee,"  I  goes  on. 
"She's  just  got  in  the  habit  of  havin'  her 
'round.  That  might  be  all  right,  too,  if  she 
didn't  have  the  travel  bug  so  bad.  But  with 
her  keepin'  on  the  wing  so  constant —  Well,  I'm 
no  bloomin*  sea-gull.  And  when  you're  en- 
gaged, this  long-distance  stuff  ought  to  be 
ruled  out.  It's  got  to  be." 

"The  way  you  suggest  ought  to  accomplish 
that,"  says  Mr.  Eobert. 

"What  sticks  me  is  where  to  camp  down 
afterwards,"  says  I.  "I've  been  lookin'  around 
some,  but — " 

"By  Jove!"  says  Mr.  Eobert,  slappin'  his 


304  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

knee.  "Who  was  it  that  was  bothering  me 
just  after  dinner?  Waddy  Crane!  He's  been 
pretending  to  be  an  artist,  you  know;  but  now 
he's  got  hold  of  his  money,  it's  all  off.  He's 
going  to  start  a  bandbox  theater  in  Chicago, 
elevate  the  drama,  all  that  sort  of  thing.  And 
that  studio  apartment  of  his  up  in  the  Fifties 
would  be  the  very  thing  for  you  two.  Wants 
to  unload  the  lease  and  furnishings.  Oh,  Waddy 
has  excellent  taste  in  rugs  and  old  mahogany. 
And  it  will  be  a  rare  bargain;  I  shall  see  to 
that.  What  do  you  say?" 

Bein'  in  the  plungin'  mood,  I  said  I'd  take 
a  chance. 

"Good!"  says  Mr.  Eobert.  "I'll  have  it  all 
arranged  before  midnight.  But  when  and 
where  does  the — er — affair  come  off?" 

"I'm  just  plottin'  that  out,"  says  I.  "Could 
I  sort  of  count  on  you  and  Mrs.  Ellins  for  to- 
morrow evenin',  say?" 

"At  your  service,"  says  Mr.  Robert. 

"Then  I'll  think  up  a  place  and  see  if  I  can 
pull  it,"  says  I. 

If  it  hadn't  been  for  that  little  detail  of  vis- 
itin'  the  license  bureau  I  wouldn't  have  sprung 
it  on  Vee  until  the  last  minute.  As  it  is,  I 
has  to  toll  her  downtown  with  a  bid  to  lunch- 
eon, and  then  I  suggests  visitin*  City  Hall. 
She's  wise  in  a  minute,  too. 


SPEED  ON  THE  HOME  STRETCH    305 

"It's  no  use,  Torchy,"  says  she.  "I've  prom- 
ised Auntie  that,  whatever  else  I  did,  I  would 
never  run  away  to  be  married." 

And  there  my  grand  little  scheme  is  shot  full 
of  holes,  all  in  a  second.  When  I  get  headway 
on  like  I  had  then,  though,  I  just  don't  know 
when  I'm  blocked.  I  swallows  hard  once  or 
twice,  and  then  shrugs  my  shoulders. 

"Let's  get  the  license,  anyway,"  says  I. 

"What's  the  sense1?"  asks  Vee. 

"I  can  have  it  to  read  over,  can't  I?"  says 
I.  "That'll  help  some.  Besides —  Ah,  come 
on,  Vee!  Be  a  sport.  Didn't  you  say  you'd 
leave  it  to  me?" 

"But  I  can't  break  my  promise,  Torchy," 
says  she. 

"That's  right,"  says  I,  "and  I  wouldn't  ask 
you  to.  Let's  take  the  subway." 

I  won;  and  when  I  put  her  in  a  taxi  an 
hour  later  she  was  still  blushin'  from  answerin' 
questions.  I  had  that  paper  with  the  city  seal 
on  it  in  my  inside  pocket,  though.  My  next  job 
is  on  the  Reverend  Percey,  the  one  who  did  the 
job  for  Mr.  Robert  the  time  I  stage-managed 
his  impromptu  knot-tyin'.  Course,  I  couldn't 
sign  him  up  for  anything  definite,  but  I  got  a 
schedule  of  his  spare  time  from  six  o'clock  on, 
and  where  he  would  be. 

"But  I — I  don't  quite  understand,"  says  he, 


306  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

starin'  puzzled  through  his  glasses.  "You  say 
you  are  uncertain  whether  my  services  will 
be—" 

' '  Now  listen,  Percey, '  '  says  I.  ' '  I  'm  the  most 
uncertain  party  at  the  present  writing  that  you 
ever  saw.  But  if  I  should  'phone,  I  want  you 
to  answer  the  call  like  a  deputy  chief  goin '  to  a 
third  alarm.  Get  that?  And  I'm  payin'  time 
and  a  half  for  every  minute  after  dark.  See ! ' ' 

Maybe  that  wasn't  just  the  way  to  hire  a 
reverend,  but  I  was  too  rushed  to  think  up  the 
proper  frills.  I  had  to  attend  to  a  lot  of  little 
things,  among  'em  bein'  this  plant  with 
Auntie's  cruisin'  friend,  the  widow.  She  was 
in  the  habit,  Mrs.  Mumford  was,  of  pickin' 
Auntie  up  now  and  then  for  an  evenin'  drive  in 
her  limousine;  and  what  I  was  tryin'  to  sug- 
gest was  that  this  would  be  a  swell  night  for  it. 

"But  I  don't  see  how  I  can,"  says  she,  cooin' 
as  usual.  "Mrs.  Hemmingway  is  to  be  a  guest 
at  a  going-away  dinner,  and  may  not  be  home 
until  late." 

"Eh?"  says  I.  "Why,  that's  fine— I  mean, 
for  Auntie.  Ripping,  eh,  what  f  Much  obliged. ' ' 

The  foxy  old  girl.  She  'd  never  mentioned  it. 
And  if  I  hadn't  found  out  just  as  I—  But  I 
did.  It  simplifies  things  a  lot.  That  is,  it 
would  unless—  Here  I  grabs  the  'phone  again 
and  calls  up  Vee. 


SPEED  ON  THE  HOME  STRETCH    307 

"Auntie's  going  out  to  dinner  to-night," 
says  I. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  says  Vee.  "She  has  just 
told  me.  I  am  not  included." 

"Then  whisper,"  says  I.  "Revise  that 
wardrobe  trunk  of  yours  like  you  expected  a 
cold  winter  in  Jamaica.  Have  a  bag  ready, 
too,  and  a  traveling  dress  handy." 

"But  why,  Torchy!"  she  insists. 

"Leave  it  to  me,"  says  I.  "We'll  be  up 
about  8:30." 

"We?"  she  asks. 

"Now  be  good,"  says  I,  "and  you  may  be 
happy.  Also  get  busy." 

You  see,  I  figured  that  what  she  didn't  know 
she  couldn't  worry  about,  nor  discuss  with 
Auntie.  Besides,  it  was  all  too  hazy  in  my 
head  for  me  to  sketch  it  out  very  clear  to  any- 
one. 

Honest,  I  don't  see  now  how  I  kept  from 
gettin'  things  bugged,  for  I  sure  was  crashin' 
ahead  reckless.  I  felt  like  I'd  been  monkey  in* 
with  a  flyin'  machine  until  I'd  got  it  started 
and  had  been  caught  somewhere  in  the  rig-gin' 
with  nobody  at  the  wheel.  But  I  was  glad 
of  it. 

Mr.  Robert  helped  out  wonderful.  When  I 
stops  packin'  my  suitcase  long  enough  to  re- 
mark, "But  say,  if  it  does  work,  where  am  I 


308  WILT  THOU  TORCHY 

headed  for?'*  he's  right  there  with  the  useful 
information. 

"Here!"  says  he.  "Your  tickets  and  draw- 
ing-room reservation.  It's  a  nice  little  place 
up  in  Vermont — quiet,  refined,  comfortable,  all 
that  sort  of  thing.  Train  at  10:45." 

"Oh!"  says  I.  "Then  that's  all  right. 
Lemme  see,  where 's  that  other  sock?" 

Say,  I'd  even  forgot  who  all  I'd  asked  to  be 
on  hand.  That  was  what  I  was  checkin'  up 
when  I  rode  past  Auntie's  floor  on  the  ele- 
vator. I  finds  Vee  some  excited  and  more  or 
less  curious. 

"Please,"  says  she,  "what  is  it  all  about?" 

"It's  a  little  game,"  says  I,  "entitled  ditch- 
ing Jamaica.  There'll  be  some  of  our  friends 
here  directly  to  join  in." 

"Torchy,"  says  Vee,  starin*  a  bit  scared, 
"you — you  mean  that —  Anyway,  I  should 
change  my  frock,  I  suppose?" 

"If  you  do,"  says  I,  "couldn't  you  make  it 
that  pink  one,  with  the  flimsy  pink  hat?" 

"You  goose!"  says  she.  "If  you  like, 
though.  Why,  there  is  someone  now ! ' ' 

"That'll  be  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robert  Ellins," 
says  I.  "You'll  have  to  show  speed." 

Trust  Vee.  Just  the  same,  I  don't  know 
where  there's  another  girl  that  could  dress  for 
the  big  event  in  less'n  half  an  hour,  while  the 


SPEED  ON  THE  HOME  STRETCH    309 

guests  was  arrivin'.  Next  came  Mr.  Eobert's 
sister,  Marjorie,  towin'  her  Ferdie  along.  Aunt 
Zenobia  and  my  Uncle  Kyrle  and  Aunt  Martha 
breezed  in  soon  after,  with  Old  Hickory  and 
Mrs.  Ellins  right  behind  'em.  Then  Piddie, 
who'd  put  on  his  evenin'  clothes  over  in  Jersey 
at  5 :30  and  had  been  on  the  trolley  most  of  the 
time  since. 

No,  it  wasn't  a  big  mob,  but  it  was  a  heap 
better  than  havin'  some  Connecticut  parson 
call  in  wifie  and  the  hired  girl,  as  I'd  first 
planned  it. 

And  prompt  at  9:30  the  Eeverend  Percey 
shows  up,  some  out  of  breath  from  his  dash 
across  from  the  subway,  but  ready  to  shoot  his 
lines  as  soon  as  he  got  his  hat  off.  While  he 
didn't  quite  have  to  do  that,  we  didn't  waste 
much  time  on  settin'  the  stage. 

"Come  on,  Vee,"  says  I,  takin'  her  by  the 
hand.  "How  about  over  there  in  our  old  win- 
dow alcove,  eh?  Turn  tum-te-tum!" 

She  holds  back  just  a  second.  Then  she 
tosses  her  chin  up,  smiles  brave  at  me,  and 
gives  my  fingers  a  squeeze.  Say,  she's  some 
girl." 

Another  minute  and  the  Eeverend  Percey 
is  off  with  a  flyin'  start.  He  ain't  so  husky  to 
look  at,  but  he  booms  out  the  "Wilt-thou"  stuff 
real  impressive  and  solemn,  part  of  the  time 


310  WILT  THOU  TOKCHY 

peekin'  over  his  glasses  at  the  folks  behind, 
and  then  lookin'  earnest  at  us.  For  an  off- 
hand performance  I  call  it  a  good  job.  And 
almost  before  I  knew  it  was  under  way  it's 
all  over. 

''Well,  Vee,"  says  I,  plantin'  a  smack  in  the 
right  place,  "we've  done  it!" 

"I — I  wish  Auntie  knew,"  says  she. 

"But  she  does,"  says  Mr.  Robert.  "At 
Torchy's  request  I  have  just  called  her  up. 
She  will  be  here  in  less  than  half  an  hour. ' ' 

"With  her  blessin' — or  what?"  I  asks. 

"As  to  that,"  says  Mr.  Eobert,  "I  am  not 
informed. ' ' 

Anyway,  we  had  time  to  brace  ourselves. 
Vee  had  only  finished  changin',  and  the  bags 
was  bein'  sent  down  to  the  taxi  when  in  she 
comes. 

"Young  man — "  she  begins. 

But  I  heads  her  off. 

"Why,  Auntie!"  says  I,  lettin'  on  to  be  sur- 
prised, and  holdin'  out  both  hands.  "You 
don't  know  how  we  missed  you.  Honest!  All 
my  fault,  though.  But  say,  with  your  stickin' 
to  that  years-and-years  idea,  what  else  could 
we  do — I  ask  you?" 

And  then  I  notices  that  them  straight-cut 
mouth  corners  of  hers  ain't  set  near  so  hard  as 
I  thought.  Her  eyes  ain't  throwin'  off  sparks, 


SPEED  ON  THE  HOME  STRETCH    311 

either.  They're  sort  of  dewy,  in  fact.  And 
when  she  does  speak  again  there's  a  break  in 
her  voice. 

"Come,"  says  she,  beckonin'  us  up.  " Per- 
haps you  know  best,  after  all,  you  silly  chil- 
dren." 

I'll  bet  we  made  a  fine  group,  too,  the  three 
of  us,  Auntie  in  the  middle,  givin'  us  the  fond 
clinch. 

"But  such  impudence  of  you,  to  do  it  right 
here ! ' '  she  goes  on.  * '  No  one  but  you,  Torchy, 
would  have  thought  of  that." 

"Had  to,"  says  I,  "with  everything  else 
barred.  I  suspected  it  might  bump  you  some, 
but—" 

"Pardon  me,"  breaks  in  Mr.  Robert,  "but 
it's  time  for  you  to  start  for  your  train." 

'  *  Train ! ' '  says  Vee.  * '  Torchy,  where  are  we 
going  I ' ' 

"Just  a  sec.,"  says  I,  "till  I  look  at  th-o 
tickets." 

So  the  last  I  heard  from  Auntie  was  a  gasjw 


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